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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25904209">Oranges and Lemons</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/helianskies/pseuds/helianskies'>helianskies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Borderline Personality Disorder, Character Study, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Sexual Content, Mistakes, Misunderstandings, Or maybe love interests, Past Abuse, Schizophrenia, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:47:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,492</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25904209</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/helianskies/pseuds/helianskies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is one messed up ride, and they know it all too well. It's been the same for most of their existence. But maybe, with a bit of help from each other, life could become slightly more tolerable — maybe even worth living.</p><p>- ✮ - ✮ - ✮ -</p><p>Rated Mature for: self-harm/suicidal themes; mature language; referenced child abuse; mild sexual content.<br/>Read at your own discretion, lovelies.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>America/Spain (Hetalia), Russia/Spain (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. ACT I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>I</b>
</p><p>They met in a hospital room, a room dripping with silence and gloom while the nurses got Ivan's bed into position and secured it. He was glad to at least be near the window, so he could get fresh air, and to also have some company. He didn't know who was in the bed diagonal to him, but someone was better than no one. </p><p>Being alone with his mind could be a scary thing. </p><p>From the other bed eventually came movement. The patient in it—someone young, maybe around his age—looked beat and tired and just about as bored as he felt and Ivan mustered up a smile in the hopes it would help the brunette feel a little better.</p><p>It seemed to work. He got a smile back, almost perpetual, almost blinding. <em> Perhaps</em>, he thought, <em> all he needed was a friendly face.</em></p><p>Friendly faces could be hard to come by, he knew, especially when people generally did a one-eighty turn when they learned he had schizophrenia. They all probably thought he was crazy. Half the time, he felt it. But a friendly face was rare, and to see such a warm smile (even if he had been the one to induce it) was welcoming. Maybe he would get on well with his new temporary roommate.</p><p>"What's your name?" the other quietly asked him. The silence had been cut, it had been vanquished. He was so grateful.</p><p>"Ivan," he replied. "And you?"</p><p>"Antonio," came the answer. </p><p>Antonio seemed… <em> nice</em>. Ivan knew deep down that they were in that same room for a reason, that they both probably had things to overcome judging by how nurses came and went over the next few hours between their conversationsto run checks and make sure they were alright. Whatever those hurdles were, however, he didn't care. Antonio was nice. A friendly face.</p><p>Within the first hour of knowing each other, they had exchanged contact details and phone numbers. Within another hour, Ivan learned that Antonio was a year younger than him, just turned twenty-one and surprised he made it. Another hour in, he discovered that the other now lived with his brother as his parents had left them when he was sixteen. Another hour, and it turned out Antonio actually suffered from borderline personality disorder. Ten minutes later, the brunette told him he was there because he had tried to kill himself, hence the bandaged arms.</p><p>Antonio stopped talking to him after that short conversation.</p><p>
  <b>II</b>
</p><p>He liked Ivan. He really, really did. He was kind and funny and he seemed to be a positive light in the otherwise dark life he was leading. Antonio wasn't sure how they ended up in the same room—by chance or by design—but he was thankful.</p><p>Even though he took a turn and found himself nearly choking on his self-loathing when he was reminded that he had tried to commit suicide. That he had failed. <em> Miserably.</em> </p><p>By the next day, though, the brunette had calmed down and relaxed. Ivan was talking to him about the things he liked to do—mostly gardening and reading, apparently—and he felt a small warmth at listening to the stories. Perhaps it was for the anecdotes, the tangents the other went off on.  Perhaps it was just his tone of voice, how gently he spoke, the smile he heard even when he closed his eyes.</p><p>It was soothing. Like cool gel on a deep ache. </p><p>They were both out of bed, sitting together near the partially open window (naturally, it only opened a few inches wide, because giving two suicidal patients access to an ordinary window when on the eighth floor would be like giving a child two whole entire birthday parties) and they had been sharing stories for a short while. Only, it got to a point where Antonio was becoming numb to the other's words and tone, his calming effect, and he needed to change the pace.</p><p>So he did.</p><p>"Why did you try to kill yourself?" he asked Ivan, who looked momentarily stunned. Antonio couldn't see why. </p><p>"Why do you want to know?" the Russian countered.</p><p>"Because," Antonio said, "my brother says talking is a good way to get emotions out and think carefully about how we are feeling."</p><p>"That is fair. But what makes you think I need to talk?"</p><p>The brunette gave a weak, wobbly smile. "We all need to talk, sometimes. Besides," he added, "I know why I tried to do it, but I don't know why <em> you </em> did."</p><p>He had no filter. He didn't know when he was pushing too far, and he knew it could be taken by others as prying or nosiness, but Antonio was curious. He'd never met someone who'd admitted to their suicidal behaviour and shrugged it off how Ivan did. How Antonio did. <em> Is he just as lost as I am? </em>He didn't yet know.</p><p>"I'm schizophrenic," Ivan told him, which was something he already knew. "I have frequent auditory hallucinations."</p><p>"Meaning…?"</p><p>The other gave a light sigh and looked back out the window. "I hear voices."</p><p>"Oh. I had a psychotic episode once, the voices terrified me," Antonio confessed. He leaned closer to the window pane and breathed on it so it steamed up, and he began to draw a crude face, with angry eyes, a zig-zag mouth. He saw Ivan give a small smile in his peripheral vision. "I hate him."</p><p>"I hate mine, too. Well— Some of them bother me less, but it would be nice to not have any at all."</p><p>"I'm sorry."</p><p>"For what?"</p><p>"That you have to listen to them."</p><p>"I don't have to listen to them. I hear them, but I don't have to take any notice," Ivan explained, and Antonio watched idly as the Russian wiped his hand over the window drawing, erasing it. "I just chose to do so this time. It was simply a mistake."</p><p>Antonio didn't entirely know what he meant, but he certainly knew what it felt like to make a mistake. To be a mistake. To be a mistake making constant mistakes.</p><p>It really, <em>really</em> sucked.</p><p>
  <b>III</b>
</p><p>Antonio was discharged four days after Ivan arrived. He was not going to be far behind, the nurses reassured him, as his sisters were anxious to have him back home and he had made it clear that the hospital made him feel worse (excuses, excuses), but saying goodbye to his roommate was still a big thing. </p><p>He had seen the sharp turns in the other's behaviour, in his attitude, in his personality. They'd laughed a lot over bad jokes and personal stories, they'd cried together in Ivan's bed in the middle of the night, they'd both tried to calm down a burst of anger and upset in the Spaniard (directed at himself, sadly) with help from shift nurses, they'd whimsically reminisced of the 'normal' days when they were younger, they'd both suffered the panic of one of Ivan's visual hallucinations looming over them, they'd sat in an easy silence when they shared a pretty illegal cigarette out of the three inch gap in their window. </p><p>How Antonio had smuggled it in, Ivan still didn't know.</p><p>But now Antonio was up and about, perfectly fine, and more than ready to go home. His brother—who Ivan had only met briefly, for a few minutes that same morning—was outside talking to staff, and Ivan was sat on his bed. Waiting. Nervous. </p><p>"You'll text me, won't you?" Antonio asked him, as if he were the one being abandoned in the hospital, and not Ivan. <em> Always alone. Worthless</em>. "Let me know how you're getting on? When you're back home?"</p><p>"Of course," Ivan nodded and smiled, "as long as you keep me updated, too."</p><p>"I will," the brunette promised. "As soon as you're a free man again, we should do something together. <em> Anything.</em>" He smiled warmly at Ivan and he felt a soft bubbling in his chest. He didn't know what it meant. "Anything would be better than staring out of a window."</p><p>Ivan wholeheartedly agreed. </p><p>Two minutes later, Antonio's brother returned and offered up an amicable smile, likely just to be polite, before offering to take his brother's bag. Antonio insisted he'd be fine. The brother accepted the statement reluctantly, judging by the way his smile dropped and he slowly breathed out, but nothing more was said. </p><p>"I'll see you soon, Ivan," Antonio said as he stood in the doorway, bag in hand, boyish and carefree, bandages barely peeking out from under his hoodie sleeves. "Thanks for keeping me company."</p><p>"Thank you, too," Ivan responded. "It's been nice."</p><p>Just nice? <em> Nice? </em> Was that all he could say?</p><p>Antonio waved at him a final time, smile still plastered on his face, and then he was gone, another slowly fading figure in Ivan's life. </p><p>He didn't want him to fade.</p><p>
  <b>IV</b>
</p><p>The texts had been frequent. The first one had come in five minutes after Antonio had walked out of the hospital with João, and it had had him smiling almost manically in the passenger seat. It had been the start of something brilliant for him.</p><p>Just over three days later, Antonio received the text he had been waiting for; Ivan was out, safely back home, and glad to be back in his garden. The affection the other had for his flowers was a curious thing, but also quite sweet. Antonio could imagine him, hat on, trowel in hand, tending to flowers under the sweltering heat of the sun, beads of sweat, dirt under his nails (<em>no, he'd wear gloves, he's sensible</em>), gentle eyes admiring a rainbow of petals, firm hands patting down clumps of fresh soil— </p><p>He really had to stop. </p><p>Antonio returned his attention to the cake he had been in the middle of drizzling with icing sugar, and then decided to text his new Russian friend. </p><p><em> Yo</em><em>:</em> glad ur free!! wanna</p><p>meet up?</p><p><em> Iván: </em>Me too :) How about</p><p>tomorrow?</p><p><em> Yo: </em> sure! picnic @ lake park?</p><p><em> Iván: </em>That sounds great</p><p><em> Yo: </em>I'll bring the food! 12?</p><p><em> Iván: </em>12. I'll bring some drinks</p><p><em> Iván: </em> Soft drinks</p><p><em> Yo: </em>lmao thanks for being the</p><p>responsible one</p><p><em> Iván: </em> You're welcome :)</p><p><em> Yo: </em> I'll see you at 12 then</p><p><em> Yo: </em> it'll be nice to see you</p><p>again :)</p><p>João came into the kitchen and asked why he was smiling. Was smiling so bad? Smiling felt nice. He felt <em> good </em> when he smiled. Did it bother him? </p><p>"I'm seeing a friend tomorrow," Antonio told him, swatting away his greedy brother's hand as he tried to steal a finger-scoop of icing. "The one from the hospital."</p><p>"Yeah? That's good." <em> He's just glad to be rid of me. </em> "Do you need a lift anywhere? I won't be working, so I don't mind—"</p><p>"It's fine," he assured him—saved him the bother. "We're just going to the big park a couple blocks away. I think I can walk there on my own."</p><p>"The last time you said that, you got lost."</p><p>"That was different, a different city—I know this place like the back of my hand!"</p><p>"How many moles have you got on the back of your left hand, then? <em> Without </em> looking."</p><p>Antonio was... stumped. The audacity of the question in itself was shattering. He only sighed, shook his head, accepted defeat. </p><p>"You don't have any," João answered for him. "Just freckles."</p><p>Ah. Of course. He should have known, Antonio was left-handed, he saw it often enough in the past twenty years, surely. <em> Fuck me.</em> But apparently not. He felt a hand in his hair, fingers gently running through already messy locks, petting, and it was a great feat to not lean into it. To not give in.</p><p>"I'm just messing, Tonto. I trust you, okay? Just don't be afraid to call me if you need me," João said, eventually taking back his hand. Antonio still couldn't bring himself to meet his gaze. "Oh, and just so you know, I'll be taking you to group therapy in the morning."</p><p>"Group therapy?" <em> Fuck that. Fuck me and fuck that, too. </em></p><p>"No fighting me on this, it'll do you some good."</p><p>"If you say so…"</p><p>
  <b>V</b>
</p><p>The park was pleasant. Not too busy. Not too loud. The weather was kind to them, and they found a good spot close to the water to set down a blanket (courtesy of Antonio) and get comfortable. It certainly beat the hospital beds.</p><p>Antonio was ranting on presently about the group therapy he attended that morning (<em>'</em><em>I hate it, I hate how everyone just stares at you with so much pity'</em>) but upon being asked if there was <em> anything </em>good about it, he did admit he met someone else he could consider a new friend—another person their age, another unfortunate with BPD. So, Ivan reminded him, it wasn't all bad. The pensive, placated smile that resulted was enough to satisfy him.</p><p>"I made some lemon cake," Antonio said at some point or another, breaking through the silence. He fished out a tin from the rucksack he'd stuffed with goods, from crisps to fruit punnets to entirely foreign things Ivan couldn't remember the names of. "I remember you said you liked lemon-y things, back in the hospital. I thought it might cheer you up."</p><p>He set the tin down on the blanket and carefully removed the lid, revealing an almost perfect looking loaf, drizzled with lemon icing sugar. How could it not cheer him up? His older sister, Kat, baked for him from time to time. But when it came from outside the family, from someone he, in a way, barely knew, it felt extra special.</p><p>"That's really kind of you," he replied as Antonio cut them both a slice with a blunt butter knife. "I'm not sure I have ever had a lemon cake before."</p><p>"No?" Antonio questioned, glancing up at him, brow slightly raised in intrigue.</p><p>"No, I know! I like lemon sweets, and lemon tea, and lemon-flavour sorbet, but lemon cake is not something I am too familiar with," Ivan admitted. </p><p>The other laughed. It was the same airy, light laugh from the hospital. "Fingers crossed that this doesn't put you off, then," he said. "I don't bake often, so this could taste like crap for all I know."</p><p>"Aw, I'm sure it won't!"</p><p>And it didn't. They were both pleasantly surprised, and Ivan was eighty-six percent sure that if no one else was around, Antonio would have stood up and danced a little victory dance. But he settled for a quiet applause instead—a relief, because Ivan didn't think he'd be able to handle too many people staring at them. Not more than they already were.</p><p>Was it weird for two guys to be sitting in a park having a picnic together? Well, in hindsight…</p><p>"Okay, so, <em> plan</em>," Antonio began after he'd settled from his surprisingly short high. He seemed full of energy now, a reignited flame. "We should totally do this each week <em> at least. </em> I don't know about you, but I haven't much in terms of company besides my brother recently and, honestly, I think I need more excuses to get out of the house besides <em> therapy</em>, and I'm sure it's the same for you, right?"</p><p>Ivan, though perhaps not quite as fervent in his feelings, nevertheless agreed. "I think we should, too," he affirmed, nodding, smiling. <em> No one cares about you. </em>His smile held. "I would like that, very much."</p><p>"Good! Then maybe next time we can find a nice coffee house or something, maybe have breakfast," Antonio suggested. His smile was big and sunny. It was good to see.</p><p>After all, having seen the various sides of him the previous week, Ivan knew his happy, easy-going side was undoubtedly his best side. </p><p>"Hey, can I tell you something?"</p><p>The request was rather out of the blue, cutting through their current conversation. But Ivan nodded all the same.</p><p>"I think you're the only person around who has listened to me talk at length without ever asking me to be quiet, slow down, or repeat myself."</p><p>"Meaning?" Ivan queried, brows furrowed.</p><p>"You're a good listener," Antonio told him.</p><p>His smile was still big, still warm, still unwavering. Ivan thought, for a brief second, that he caught something different in the other's green eyes—a different emotion trapped inside of him—but it vanished just as Antonio breathed in and blinked. Was he emotional? Was he feeling okay? <em> Worthless. You're nothing. </em> </p><p>"Do you know what that makes you?"</p><p>
  <em> Nothing. You might as well be dead. </em>
</p><p>"A good friend."</p><p>
  <b>VI</b>
</p><p>It had been a month. Antonio had successfully met up with Ivan six times since their trip to the park—a list of ventures that included tea, coffee, a visit to Ivan's rather small but beautiful garden, an invite to Antonio's (João's) for lunch, an evening walk along the river, and— </p><p>"Thanks for coming with me, I really do hate going in on my own," Antonio said to Ivan as they left the community centre and with it, another horrid group therapy session. "It's a shame Al wasn't there this week, I think you'd both get on. I'll have to call him later on, make sure he's okay."</p><p>"Does he live far away?" Ivan responded. They started to walk down the street together, back towards home (what a relief, that João had given him permission to walk back this week rather than picking him up and wrangling him into the car). "We can stop by if you like, so you can see him in person?"</p><p>"Oh. Are you sure? I don't want you to go out of your way—"</p><p>"Nonsense, that is what we do, right? We have to look out for each other, as they say."</p><p>Antonio couldn't agree more.</p><p>He explained that it was a good fifteen minute walk to get to Alfred's apartment, where he lived with his brother, but Ivan didn't seem to mind. That was something Antonio had become rather fond of. It wasn't that Ivan was easily swayed and convinced to go along with whatever, but simply that he seemed to take into account how his choices would affect others. He knew Antonio would worry about Alfred if they didn't check on him. He knew what worry did to the Spaniard's mood. So, even if it meant going out of his way, Ivan was more than happy to make that sacrifice in the name of being a good friend.</p><p>Antonio felt he would never be able to put into sufficient words just how much that meant to him. Each time he looked at the other he just felt so <em> lucky </em>. So, so lucky. Bless the beings that put them in the same hospital room all that time ago! </p><p>It was as though he'd been sent an angel.</p><p>Alfred was similar, in some ways—similar to Ivan. He often had the same selfless approach to others, and would do his best to be the outstanding person in spite of his emotions, in spite of the repercussions it could have on his state of mind, his mood, his happiness. He also had a winning smile. It was more jovial and expressive than Ivan's, and he was certainly a lot louder and boisterous. But he was good with a capital 'G'. Another Good Friend.</p><p>Which was why Antonio was so damn worried that he didn't turn up to the <em> damned </em>therapy!</p><p>When they reached the apartment building, Antonio buzzed up to the flat and got no answer. <em> Fuck. </em> Since when didn't he answer? He buzzed again. Nothing. And then someone came out of the building and Antonio caught the door with his foot so they could slip inside (all the while, Ivan said nothing) and head up to where Alfred lived. As soon as he saw it, Antonio was straight into knocking on the door, each hit of his fist a strike in his chest.</p><p>He feared that Alfred could be stuck in a hospital room, with a window that barely opened, suffocating, without someone like Ivan to keep him going, to keep him sane, to keep him from sneaking out and finding somewhere isolated and dark to just—</p><p>A chain rattled. The door opened.</p><p>"Toni…?"</p><p>"Alfred!" The brunette nearly choked on his own breath. "So you are alive then!"</p><p>"What do you mean?" Alfred responded, a weak frown forking on his face. He rubbed his eye and shook his head, and Antonio wondered… </p><p>"Were you… <em> asleep </em>?"</p><p>"Mmh. Maybe…?"</p><p>"You missed circle time," Antonio said. "I was worried."</p><p>Alfred seemed to pale. "Oh shit, did I? Fuck, Mattie's gonna kick my ass—"</p><p>"He doesn't have to know," he said—he promised. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And I, uh, I wanted you to meet someone."</p><p>He glanced back at Ivan, who was lingering close by, and he mustered up a smile to encourage him to come forward and say hello, like you would a stray animal. Ivan could be shy. That made him different to Alfred. His timidity was sweet, it was endearing. Just in the same way Alfred's spirit was.</p><p>"Al, this is Ivan. My friend from the hospital," he introduced, because quite naturally, he'd spoken about his angel a fair few times to Alfred (because fuck the rest of that group). He knew Alfred had been curious to meet him. "Ivan, this is Alfred, my friend from therapy."</p><p>"Ooh, welcome to the crazy corner," Alfred greeted, and he held out a hand to the taller man. Antonio was glad to see them shake, to see them begin a bond. "Glad you could join us!"</p><p>"Please, the only crazy one here is me," Ivan assured him with a quiet laugh.</p><p>When Alfred gave him a quizzical look, Antonio had to add: "He hears voices." Amongst other things. But hey, societal expectations, and all that. At least Alfred understood. </p><p>He gave a chuckle, too. "I hear voices, too," he joked, "and right now, they're tellin' me you guys should come in for a drink. Sound good?"</p><p>"Sounds <em> wonderful </em>" Antonio said. "Ivan?"</p><p>"If it is no bother," the Russian obliged.</p><p>"<em>Amazing! </em>Come on in, come on in! I should have some coffee if you're up for it, unless of course you're a tea kinda guy, Ivan, in which case, I may have some choice words for you…"</p><p>
  <b>VII</b>
</p><p>Alfred hung out with them sometimes. The three of them bonded over being 'different', being burdens, being unable to do much else with their days but eat, sleep, meet, repeat. </p><p>But even so, Ivan relished the moments when it was just him and Antonio. Alfred was funny, outgoing, a ball of incredible surprises—but sometimes, Ivan needed the calm and peace that Antonio had become synonymous with. When he wasn't, you know, exuding more antonymous emotions. <em> Pathetic. Stupid. </em></p><p>Today was an Ivan-and-Antonio day. Ivan had suggested they go out for the day, and it had taken a lot of positive encouragement and reinforcement to convince Antonio to accept the offer, and they went where no twenty-one year olds would probably be caught dead on their own: the zoo. Ivan had suggested they go to the <em> zoo. </em> Why? No idea. Literally no idea. But it was easy to get to on the bus and Ivan had never been in the five years he'd been in the city. </p><p>They were walking through the aviary when Antonio stopped walking with him and remained still in his place, looking around. Ivan had expected to see some form of happiness, a joy at being surrounded by so many free-flying birds. Parrots, parakeets, love-birds, macaws… </p><p>"They remind me of us," Antonio mused quietly. "Not completely restrained, but not truly free."</p><p>Ivan didn't know what to say at first, so he replied: "You have this habit of getting sort of deep, I have noticed," because he didn't entirely comprehend. "Do you maybe feel… <em> trapped </em> by something?"</p><p>"Don't you?"</p><p>"Not really," he said in earnest. "I mean, sometimes I get frustrated that I am not… like everyone else. Whatever that means. But at the same time, I know I am not alone."</p><p>"Aren't we?" </p><p>Ivan watched the other swallow, he watched this invisible lump slowly slip down his throat as he gazed overhead. He was becoming emotional. He was becoming overwhelmed. This had been a bad idea. <em>You're pointless. You're useless.</em> <em>You're worthless.</em></p><p>In truth, Ivan wasn't sure how to handle this sort of situation when they were in a public space but, maybe, it was best to hear him out. '<em>T</em><em>alking is a good way to get emotions out and think carefully about how we are feeling</em>'. He recalled those as Antonio's words the day after they'd met. Or maybe his brother's words. Paraphrased. Thereabouts. Roughly.</p><p>The point was…</p><p>"I think we should sit down on a bench and talk about this together," Ivan said, gesturing to one such seat close by, where an orange bird had perched on the arm. He put a hand on Antonio's shoulder and gave him that friendly nudge that got him to slowly walk. "I would like to understand better—you and your feelings. Your thoughts."</p><p>Antonio seemed unsure, he shook his head anxiously. "You're starting to sound exactly like my therapist."</p><p>"But I'm not, am I? I'm your friend. And I want to listen to you."</p><p>They sat down together. The orange bird stayed put quite comfortably on the arm next to Ivan, no doubt accustomed to being close to scary humans at this point, and he wished for a moment he had a camera. It was a cute, pretty thing. Though, he had something more pressing to focus on.</p><p>"Do you feel alone?" he asked Antonio. It certainly seemed to be what the brunette had suggested. </p><p>He barely nodded. And then, a sharp intake of breath: "We call ourselves 'burdens' and we laugh. But it hurts to laugh like that, when I know it's true," he explained, in little more than a whisper.</p><p>"Can you elaborate for me? Why do you feel like a burden?"</p><p>"Do you not?"</p><p>"Please, responding to me with questions is not going to help anyone, Tonyo. I want to listen. I want to be a good friend."</p><p>"I don't know what you want me to say!" the Spaniard huffed. Distressed and agitated. <em> Careful, Ivan</em>. "I'm horrible, I have been all my life. I don't do anything, I'm just <em> here</em>, I— I burden my brother with everything, with money, with responsibility, with <em> me </em> in <em> general</em>, I—"</p><p>"He's your brother, he understands—"</p><p>"But what use is someone who can't hold a job, who can't handle stress, who dissociates, who can't be independent, who can't get better, who'd rather be de—" His voice cracked. One of Ivan's heartstrings snapped with it. "<em>Dead,</em> <em>God</em>, who the <em> f-fuck </em> would want someone like that around?"</p><p>He saw them. He wished he hadn't, but he saw the burning tears. He saw the other's freshest scars even though they were well-hidden. He saw his stability fracturing right before him. Ivan tried to console him, to put a hand on his shoulder for comfort, but Antonio shrugged away. <em> He doesn't want you. You should leave forever. Die. </em> It hurt. What could he do? Ivan searched for an answer in his lap, in the trees opposite, to his side—</p><p>The bird. It was still there. He looked at it (him? her?) and slowly reached out a hand to say hello. Maybe the bird would be less scared of his touch, less against his presence. When the little orange being approached and clung to his finger with its little feet (claws? talons?), Ivan was, naturally, a little happier.</p><p>But he wasn't the one who needed that happiness.</p><p>He glanced back to Antonio, who was looking the other way, knees huddled close to him, arms wrapped tight around to form his safety bubble. <em> He doesn't want you. Nobody wants you. </em> Ivan really hoped he could get him to smile, so he moved his hand carefully until the (adorable) orange ball of feathers was in front of him, and he tapped the other's arm.</p><p>"Someone wants to say hello," Ivan said.</p><p>"What, to me?" </p><p>"Yes. Because he thinks you are special," he insisted. "So I think you should say hello back."</p><p>To his surprise, Antonio moved sooner than he anticipated. He turned his head towards Ivan, and the Russian relished in the shock that suddenly riddled the other when he was face to face with a bird. It was something he would commit to memory—a face perfectly painted with horror and wonder and confusion. </p><p>"What do you think? Do you think he can be your friend?"</p><p>Antonio glanced at Ivan, eyes still wide and also a bit red. And then he looked back at the bird.</p><p>"He's cute…"</p><p>"And friendly, too. Gentle. Here, give me your hand," Ivan implored him, and when Antonio did as asked, he smiled at him. The other's hand was warm (maybe even clammy) and soft. "Hopefully he will move and— Ah! There!"</p><p>The bird hopped easily onto the offered palm. Ivan could have sworn he heard the other yelp (or was it more of a squeal? a surprised squeak?) when orange fluff fell into his hand, and now, seeing the way Antonio looked at the bird with an unbelievable amount of adoration and amazement—<em> that </em>was something he wished he could take a photo of. Then he could treasure it.</p><p>"He's like an orange. He's so round," the brunette mumbled, "so small…"</p><p>"He is! And you know what?" Ivan said. Antonio looked to him, his lips <em> so close </em> to forming that perfect curve. "He doesn't think you're a burden. He thinks you are a wonderful support, a gentle person, and very generous, too."</p><p>
  <em> Or is that just what I think? </em>
</p><p>Antonio found the courage to smile. "I like oranges."</p><p>They both left the zoo later that afternoon, each with a plush bird in hand to serve as a small reminder. One was orange, just like their avian friend, and the other was a bright canary yellow. </p><p>
  <b>VIII</b>
</p><p><em> Iván: </em> Are you free to meet up</p><p>today?</p><p><em> Yo: </em>not today, sorry</p><p><em> Yo: </em> i have an appointment</p><p><em> Yo: </em> it's a busy week tbh,</p><p>got friends visiting etc</p><p><em> Iván: </em>That's OK, I understand</p><p><em> Iván: </em> Call me if you want to </p><p>talk about anything, I'm always</p><p>here for you</p><p><em> Yo: </em> thanks :)</p><p>Antonio did not call Ivan for eight days. Instead, he spent his time reconnecting with his beloved paints, his canvases, his own harrowing emotions. An itch lingered in his wrist. Sometimes, he numbed it with the burn of cigarette smoke. Other times, he numbed it with the heat of a cigarette butt. Either way, the pain lessened, even if only for a night.</p><p>He lied about having friends visiting that week. </p><p>Antonio didn't have friends.</p><p>
  <b>IX</b>
</p><p>"You guys are literally the worst," Alfred huffed, kicking a stone into the river. One stone closer to building a bridge. "I can't believe you dragged me out here in the middle of the night and didn't warn me what we were doing so I could have brought <em> marshmallows</em>!"</p><p>"Aww, you're right," Antonio laughed (albeit not too loudly, so as not to further damage Alfred's heart, <em> poor thing</em>), "it's not like we didn't pack basically <em>everything else</em> that seemed appropriate!"</p><p>Ivan poked at the campfire they had created out in the words to the south of the city border. Antonio had driven them out there just after eight in the evening (so not <em> actually </em> the middle of the night) and he and Ivan had surprised the birthday boy with a midnight feast, blankets and rented sleeping bags, a chance to sleep under the beautiful night sky they knew the blonde adored so much, and he was seriously complaining that they had neglected to bring him marshmallows on top of everything else?</p><p>The guy had been clean for three months. <em> Surely</em>, Ivan thought, <em> that should be what he is shouting about!  </em></p><p>Alfred soon sat down (thank the Lord) and cracked open one of the many beer cans Antonio had smuggled out there in his trusty rucksack. He had recently joined the Spaniard in being twenty-one—<em>'absolutely, one-hundred percent legal, baby!</em>'—and he was, by his own words, ready to put his liver through its paces.</p><p>"Amen to that!" Antonio agreed, swiftly joining him.</p><p>Normally, Ivan would have recommended that someone stay sober in the case of an emergency. But everyone who needed to know where they were knew where they were, what they were doing (well, maybe minus the drinking part), how to find them—and he was gasping for something to drink. Beer would surely suffice.</p><p>It was funny, watching the others become more tipsy and uncontrollable, and also being part of that. Ivan never had this growing up, when students went to house parties and birthday parties and illegal parties and got hammered just because they felt like it. He'd missed out. So now that he had friends to do this with, there was no way in Hell that Ivan would allow himself to miss out any longer. Soon he would be turning twenty-three. Life was too short to hold oneself back and not try the finer pleasantries of being a human.</p><p>Maybe that was why, once they had settled down for the night, fire out, blankets wrapped around them, eyes drooping, he was happy to welcome a rather clingy Antonio to sleep right next to him. Alfred was already out for the count. Ivan's arm was loose around the brunette. Antonio was looking up at the stars. </p><p>"You know what, Ivan?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Sometimes, I think you come from up there."</p><p>"From space? You think I'm an alien?"</p><p>"No. Not an alien."</p><p>Ivan didn't get to find out what he was otherwise, then, because Antonio had already closed his eyes and snuggled up that little bit closer to him. He looked so peaceful as sleep readied to claim him, and Ivan didn't want to interrupt that. So he merely watched the stars alone and wondered for himself where indeed he came from, and who he truly was.</p><p>
  <b>X</b>
</p><p>Antonio knocked on the door. In hand were some flowers, because he knew that they would be appreciated, to which he had also tied a few bags of lemon-flavoured sweets. When the door was opened, he went to hold it out, but was met by an unfamiliar face. She was a little intimidating… </p><p>"Is Ivan in?" he asked the young lady who stood in the doorway. </p><p>"He is in the garden," she replied. And then she glanced him up and down, as though scrutinising each detail, and then she stepped aside. "Come, he said a friend might show up."</p><p><em> He knows me well</em>, Antonio pondered as the woman (well, firstly, she looked no older than he was, and secondly, she had to be one of Ivan's rarely-mentioned sisters) guided him through the quaint house that they lived in. It was pleasant, inviting. He had seen it once before, when Ivan had had him around for drinks in the garden, but he supposed the sisters had both been out that day. He hadn't ever met them in person. Was that… strange? Did Ivan not want him to meet them?</p><p>Through the kitchen, they stepped out into the backyard, and Antonio was promptly left to his own devices by the sister. Ivan was in the flower beds. It was like a form of déjà vu, only, he felt as though this was not a scene he'd seen in any <em> reality</em> of his, at least… </p><p>"Hey," he called out half-heartedly, not wanting to startle the other too much. Ivan, to his relief, heard him the first time. "I thought I would pop in to say hello."</p><p>"Ah, no worries! It's good to—" Ivan carefully got up from his knees with a faint grunt, perhaps a little pained. Gardening could be very laborious! "—see you, it is a pleasant surprise."</p><p>"Speaking of which," Antonio said, holding out the small bouquet of sunflowers, "I got these for you."</p><p>Ivan looked stunned. Touched. He smiled and took the bouquet, as well as the bags of sweets that were attached to the twine, and he gave the flowers a light sniff. Ivan liked sunflowers. Antonio remembered that well. He seemed to like a lot of yellow things in general, when he thought about it. </p><p>"They are lovely, thank you so much! But, what are they for?" Ivan questioned, still surprised by the gesture.</p><p>"Do I… need a reason to give you flowers?"</p><p>The Russian gave a soft laugh. "Well, maybe, if I am to face my sisters at the dinner table and escape unscathed."</p><p>"Do <em> they </em> need a reason…?"</p><p>He didn't understand. It was just a friendly gesture, maybe a small sort of thank you for everything Ivan had done, even when Antonio hadn't quite been there for him in the same way. But whose business was that? Did it matter? He didn't go telling João every little thing he did with Ivan, so why did his sisters need to be so nosy and invasive on a private thing? </p><p>Antonio suddenly felt disheartened, overwhelmed, hurt. Ivan wasn't happy. He didn't want them. He didn't like them. With a start, Antonio stepped back and clenched his fists around the sleeves of his jacket, unable to look at the other directly. He felt a wave of trouble crash against his legs and for a second, he was scared he would fall.</p><p>"I'll see you soon, I, uh— It's a busy day. I-I need to get going," he spluttered out, abruptly turning to go towards the garden gate to the side of the house. At least that way he could avoid any unwanted attention from the sisters. "I'll see you soon, though. Definitely. Soon."</p><p>He didn't acknowledge a response if he got one. He was too wrapped up in his own little world as it started to crumble around him.</p><p>That night, he painted.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. ACT II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>I</b>
</p><p>Ivan hadn't heard from Antonio for a couple days. The message he had sent was sitting unread on the other's phone, along with the numerous missed calls that had accumulated in the meantime. What worried him most was that these sorts of silences were steadily becoming more regular. </p><p>He swallowed down his medication with tasteless water. </p><p>Maybe it was time for a house call. They had done it for Alfred. They had done it for Ivan (new meds had thrown him off course recently, he'd needed a lot of time to readjust and they'd swung by to check in on him). Now he would do it for Antonio.</p><p>It was an easy walk to where the Spaniard lived in the suburbs. The streets were quite quiet for the morning, and it would have been the ideal day to be out on a leisurely stroll, or perhaps a bike ride. Would Antonio be into that sort of thing? A country escape? He didn't seem like much of a city bird, if he had to be honest. Maybe some fresh air, some natural serenity…</p><p>Once at the door, he gently knocked and waited in silence. The flower pots on the patio had been a little neglected—under-watered from the look of the soil—but that could easily be remedied.</p><p>The door opened.</p><p>"Ivan," João greeted with that same polite smile from the first time they'd crossed paths at the hospital. He was being friendly. Courteous. "It's nice to see you."</p><p>"And you," he replied and smiled back.</p><p>João nodded. And then: "If you're looking for Antonio, he's not here at the moment."</p><p>"Ah, no worries. I just wanted to see if he is okay."</p><p>But he also wanted to see him in person. He wanted to look him in the eye, hear him say 'I'm fine', and catch that light flicker that betrayed him. The word 'fine' was a treacherous one.</p><p>"He's out of town," João told him.</p><p>Ivan couldn't help but give a puzzled look, a light frown. Since when did Antonio leave town, and especially without his brother? "When will he be back?" he asked.</p><p>"I'm not sure, he's with a family friend. Needed a break from the city. I think it's been getting to him… you know?"</p><p>"Yes, I know. It is not a pleasant feeling," Ivan mused. It would explain his silence, perhaps. His brother had to work, after all, he had financial responsibility. Which was, apparently, more important than fraternal responsibility. </p><p>"Sorry I can't be much help," João sighed. At least he <em> seemed </em> sorry. "I'll get him to call you when he's back. I think he's switched off his phone to try and focus on his health."</p><p>"That would be great, thank you. I hope he feels better soon and comes back," the Russian smiled once more where it had fallen from his face. "It is strange, not seeing him around."</p><p>"Like I say, he's just in a bad place. He'll bounce back. He always does."</p><p>Ivan said no more. He just kept up his smile and nodded in understanding, and turned away from the small house to begin the walk back home. He heard the door close. He let out a heavy breath he'd been holding.</p><p>It didn't make sense. <em> Something must have happened to Antonio, </em>Ivan told himself, not caring how paranoid it sounded; <em> he would not leave the city and not warn me first. </em> All the way home, the possibilities grew. What if he were in hospital again? Would João have told him? What if João had sent him away to get a break for himself? Antonio had said a few times he was waiting for the very day… Oh, but, what if he'd gone back <em> home </em> home? Out of the States? Ivan would never see him again. </p><p>Antonio was fading. He was fading from Ivan's life, and Ivan didn't know how to stop it.</p><p>
  <b>II</b>
</p><p>Antonio heard the door close but paid no mind to when his brother came into the spare room, now taken over by Antonio's canvases and supplies, and to how he leaned against the door frame. Just watching him. Sighing. <em> Disappointed in me. </em></p><p>"You have to speak to him at some point," João said. "You can't hide in here forever, not when they actually give a shit about you—"</p><p>"If I wanted to have a conversation, I would have come to find you," Antonio interrupted. He did his best to block out the other's words, to erase them from his mind. "I'm busy working on this online commission. I know it's not much, but every little helps, and to me, that's better than nothing."</p><p>João gave a sigh. He sounded so much older when he sighed—sixty-five rather than twenty-five—and Antonio didn't want his brother to age like that. Not because of him.</p><p>"I can't keep covering for you. Alfred has already come knocking <em> twice,</em>" he remarked, "and I don't think Ivan is buying you being away."</p><p>"But I <em> am </em> away. I mean, I'm certainly not <em> here.</em>"</p><p>"Well, I wish you were. Because if you were, then I could talk to you, I could hug you… I could <em> help </em> you." João lightly smacked a hand against the door frame, perhaps to release a little pent up frustration. <em> He's every right to be angry at you, Toni.</em> "I'll be here waiting for you when you get back."</p><p>Antonio looked up at him mid-stroke. The paint was starting to dry. "I know," he said. 'I know."</p><p>
  <b>III</b>
</p><p>A text came through. At last. Two days after Ivan spoke to João.</p><p><em> Tonyo: </em> hey, hope you haven't<br/>missed me too much ;)</p><p><em> Tonyo: </em> sorry, been away for a<br/>few days.. should have told<br/>you sooner</p><p><em> меня: </em> That's fine, I spoke<br/>to your brother, I understand<br/>that you need space</p><p><em> Tonyo: </em> do you fancy meeting<br/>up today? i have something to<br/>show you</p><p><em> меня: </em> I would like that :)</p><p><em> Tonyo: </em> yay!! there's this cafe<br/>near the park, Topolino?</p><p><em>Tonyo: </em> Tipolini?</p><p><em> Tonyo: </em> something italian, it has<br/>the green hangy fabric things<br/>outside</p><p><em> меня: </em> I think I know which one</p><p><em> меня: </em> I can meet you there at 1?</p><p><em> Tonyo: </em> perf</p><p>One o'clock couldn't have come around any slower. </p><p>The café was somewhere Ivan had been before, so it was no trouble to find. To his delight, as soon as he walked in the door, he saw that Antonio had already nabbed them a window seat in the corner. When he approached the table, however, he was even more blown away when the brunette got up and hugged him. <em> Tight</em>. Ivan couldn't help but let a laugh slip past his lips, hugging him back.</p><p>"It's good to see you, too," he said as they pulled away, and Antonio gave a meek laugh, brushing it off. </p><p>"Sorry I didn't ask first, but I feel like I owe you <em> several </em> hugs, and I hate owing people things," the Spaniard remarked. They both sat down, one opposite the other, and Ivan was relieved to see he looked bright and breezy. He looked <em> well</em>. "Like an explanation. I think I owe you one of those, too."</p><p>Ivan tried not to look too affected. "Well, you don't have to, but…" He wasn't very good at trying to not look affected, disdainful, a little upset. "I was worried about you. You have never been so distant, and I know I have only known you for a couple of months, but it still seemed so… <em>not</em> <em>you</em>."</p><p>"I know. I'm sorry," Antonio said. His head was hung, his shoulders slouched forward, hands under the table and probably fidgeting. "But that's why I wanted to show you something."</p><p>From under the table, he pulled out a brown paper bag and nudged it towards the other. Ivan took it, asking with only his gaze if he was allowed to look inside, and Antonio gestured for him to go ahead. While the other spoke, Ivan unwrapped the mystery object inside, being careful with the newspaper that protected whatever was inside.</p><p>"Before I went to hospital, I had a good outlet to help me cope with my behaviour patterns, mood swings, and so on," the brunette explained. "When I got out, I stopped. Which was one of many mistakes I've made…"</p><p>With the last piece of paper removed, Ivan turned over what appeared to be an artist's canvas, to be met with a painting. It was… quite well done. Colourful. A beautiful scene that, if he had to guess, depicted a field of sunflowers, the sun lowering behind some hills, a light breeze ruffling the plants in the foreground. </p><p>"This is really good," he praised, taking in each detail, each brushstroke of bold acrylic paint. "You really painted this?" Antonio nodded. "For me?"</p><p>The Spaniard sucked in some air. "I made a bigger mistake in not talking to you. It's hard to explain how I feel at times, and it's easier to shut it all out," he said, though, judging by the way he fiddled with his hands and frowned at the table, it took a lot of hard thinking to put it into words. A lot of hard thinking, and courage. "Painting helps me focus on something. You can put your emotions onto a canvas, and you don't have to explain it, because a painting can speak for itself."</p><p>Ivan smiled a rare smile—one that spoke for itself as well, giving away how touched he was, how endeared he was, how amazed he was. Antonio painted this for him. Even when he was in a bad place, he had thought of Ivan, he had thought to do something <em> for </em> Ivan. </p><p>"I love it," he affirmed. He glanced back at the warm colours in his hands, the glow of golds and yellows and oranges, the care that went into the composition. "I really, really do."</p><p>"I'm glad. It took me a while to work out what to paint, but in the end, it just seems to scream 'Ivan' to me."</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>"Mmh, well, the colours are warm and clear. The scene itself is calming, it's soothing, it's so peaceful…" Antonio paused and he leaned forward, a grin slipping onto his face. "It's actually based on a place not too far away, a rural town, beautiful landscapes. Like, I know where <em> I'd </em> be heading if I ever wanted to escape," he joked. And then he sat back again and continued with his explanation: "Plus, I painted the fields full of sunflowers. Tall, charming… The flowers are certainly pleasing to the eye, don't you think?"</p><p>"They are." Ivan set the canvas down on the pile of newspapers. He would wrap it up again soon so it would be protected for the walk home. "I'm actually trying to grow a few in the garden, in the bed by the gardenias."</p><p>"Ooh, I hope they grow. That'll look so pretty!"</p><p>"You think so?"</p><p>"Absolutely!"</p><p>"I am trusting your opinion, in that case. I blame you if it looks bad!"</p><p>"Try me. It'll look beautiful."</p><p>
  <em> So will you, if you smile like this all the time. </em>
</p><p>"Sorry to interrupt you, but can I get you both something to drink?"</p><p>Ivan let Antonio go first so that he could pull himself together and let his heart settle.</p><p>
  <b>IV</b>
</p><p>It was the early evening. It was quiet. Antonio was sitting on a swing in one of the local playgrounds (void of children, thank God, <em> no screaming</em>), an ice-cream in hand. Ivan was on the swing next to him. Was it absolutely, positively strange that they were doing this? Maybe. But he absolutely, positively didn't care. He was happy. Ivan made him happy. And since they had reconnected, Antonio hadn't had a single negative episode.</p><p>Even João was impressed.</p><p>But he was getting a better handle of his triggers, how to avoid them, how to handle his emotions. He felt more stable. The itch had gone. He smiled.</p><p>Of course it wasn't perfect, but it was better, and that was what mattered.</p><p>"My therapist thinks you're a good influence," he told Ivan. "He says I'm improving."</p><p>"That's good! I'm just happy to see you are smiling," the other replied.</p><p>"How can I <em> not</em>? You invite me out, you take me to this amazing gelateria, we go on this refreshing walk, and then we find a set of swings to chill on, no fucks given. It's <em> literally </em> childhood," Antonio beamed with the same childlike delight. As though it were Christmas morning, rather than a cool July evening. "You have no idea how much I genuinely love this…"</p><p>"Did you do this sort of thing a lot when you were little, then?" Ivan questioned, quite innocently, before he took a hearty lick of his sorbet. Lemon-flavoured, of course. "Get ice-cream, sit in a playground…?"</p><p>What a good question. Did he? Did Antonio recall ever doing that sort of thing, or was it just an idealisation of his youth? The childhood he wanted, rather than the childhood he'd had? He could feel it. He could feel that build-up, that unsettling he in his stomach opening up, the faint nausea, the slightly acidic taste his own ice-cream had taken on.</p><p>"No, uh… I don't think I ever did," he replied.</p><p>Antonio regretted saying anything at that moment. He shouldn't have brought it up. He should have <em> shut up </em> , he should have learned to <em> be quiet, don't say a word or I</em>—</p><p>Snapping his eyes shut, he tried to stop the memories from flooding in so relentlessly. </p><p>"Tonyo?"</p><p>"Sorry, I just—"</p><p>He felt a distant burning sensation over his skin. Everywhere. Outside. Inside. He wished he had a cigarette, or maybe a thousand cigarettes, just so he could burn it all away himself and blow away with the ash in the night time breeze. </p><p>"I should have thought before I spoke then, I'm sorry," Antonio said, swallowing down the bad thoughts, the bad desires, the bad dreams. "Can we talk about something else?"</p><p>Ivan gave a solemn nod. There was no doubt in his mind that his good, lemon-loving, gentle friend understood what was taking place. "I could tell you about my life in Russia, if you like."</p><p>"Is it… <em> happy</em>?"</p><p>"Most of it. But I can tell you only the happy things if it makes you feel better."</p><p>"That would be good, please. I'd— I'd love to know."</p><p>"Of course! It would be a pleasure to tell you."</p><p>
  <em> Ah, how my blessed Russian angel saves me once more. </em>
</p><p>
  <b>V</b>
</p><p>"Alfred, do me a favour and <em> stop throwing those shells at me, you ass!</em>"</p><p>The blonde snickered and laughed full force as Antonio (or his character, at least) got hit for the sixth time that race. Ivan had never known a game more devastating for friendships than Mario Kart. How Antonio hadn't yet murdered Alfred, or at least the controller in his hands, was a mystery never to be solved.</p><p>"Suck it, Toni! I won!"</p><p>"No, you came <em> second,</em> you still got bested by a CPU!"</p><p>"Yeah, well, you got beaten by <em> four </em> CPUs, and <em> me</em>! So I still clearly win!"</p><p>"Oh my God, <em> fine</em>! You win! Whatever! at least I can drive for <em> real</em>…"</p><p>Based on how well(?) Antonio performed in the races in a video game, such a fact came as a surprise to Alfred, who couldn't believe Antonio even passed his test the first time (Alfred was still learning, he couldn't seem to get past the theory part). Ivan, however, was less amazed he could drive and more concerned, given the road rage the brunette had for computer AIs, let alone real people on the streets.</p><p>"Picture this: you're driving full-speed. Dead ahead, an elderly person is crossing the road. To your right, a group of kids are walking. To your left, a big oak tree that driving into would prove fatal," Alfred had posed to the both of them while they were all cooling down, "what would you hit?"</p><p>Ivan had thought carefully. "The tree."</p><p>"Oh shit, I was headed straight for grandma," Antonio had mumbled and nervously laughed (<em>aww</em>).</p><p>"Well, you're both wrong," Alfred had replied. "You'd hit the brakes, dummies!"</p><p>Both of them had groaned at how proud the blonde had been with himself.</p><p>Even so, that afternoon spent playing Mario Kart taught Ivan one thing quite clearly: never challenge Antonio to anything because he could be <em> such </em> a sore loser (albeit a loveable one, whose tantrums were as amusing and adorable as they were persistent).</p><p>Oh, and never let him drive anywhere too fast. God forbid he hit a pensioner!</p><p>
  <b>VI</b>
</p><p>"Hey, Ivan?"</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"Do you trust me?"</p><p>"Of course I do. Why?"</p><p>"I just wanted to know."</p><p>"Okay…"</p><p>"Ivan…?"</p><p>"Yes, Tonyo?"</p><p>"Thank you. For trusting me."</p><p>"That's what good friends are for."</p><p>
  <b>VII</b>
</p><p>Today was an Ivan-only day. With little over two hours of sleep to his name, there was no way he would be able to properly function, and by orders of his older sister, he was to stay at home. For his own sake..</p><p>Though he knew it had to be done, it did mean that he had to cancel on seeing Antonio, which he hoped would go down okay. He didn't see <em> why </em> Antonio would mind if he told him for context just how dreadful the night truly was for him. As long as the other found another way to occupy his time and keep his mind off things like his triggers (which Ivan didn't quite know for sure, but he was starting to piece things together, to see just how alike they were), then it would be fine.</p><p>But for now, Ivan needed rest. He needed the terror of his midnight hallucinations to subside so he could try to sleep, he needed his medication to work properly so he didn't have to suffer like this so much in the first place, and… he needed to be okay. He just needed to be okay, so that he could then be okay for other people.</p><p>He sent Antonio a text, filled with apology and explanation, but after that was done, he turned his phone off and rolled over in his bed. Sleep would hopefully come soon.</p><p>
  <b>VIII</b>
</p><p>Since Ivan was down for the count (he'd sent his best wishes), Antonio found solace in visiting Alfred. The pair were starting to spend more time together as exactly that—a pair—and it was nice to be around someone so much like himself.</p><p>However, that afternoon, Antonio got more than he'd bargained for. Alfred was slightly worked up, which was his brother's doing, and the American had no problems venting to his close friend about something Antonio thought was… not really that important to himself. Personally.</p><p>"Is it a bad thing? I mean, I'm not the kinda guy to just go around and have sex with just <em> whoever,</em>" Alfred tried to reason, pacing the length of the foot of his bed. Antonio was sitting on the sheets idly watching. "I want there to be a connection, I wanna lose it with someone I actually give a shit about. You know?"</p><p>"Yeah, I know," the brunette said simply to pacify him. "I'm sure he doesn't mean anything by it, Al."</p><p>"I know, I get that he's Mr. Perfect but— I dunno, what if he's right? I'm twenty-one, this is something that normal people do a lot sooner, isn't it?"</p><p>Antonio was pretty sure there wasn't a standard age. Celibacy was a thing, but then, at the same time, so were teenage mothers. He felt a bit lost with it, in all honesty. But this was a topic for conversation we wanted to turn away from, it was already starting to stack up and he just wanted to play games and get his mind off it all…</p><p>"What about you?" Alfred asked him, and Antonio's focus stumbled erratically. "Have you already had sex? Lost your V-card?"</p><p>
  <em> Make him feel better. Lie to him. He doesn't have to know. </em>
</p><p>"No," Antonio hastily replied. He could feel his heartbeat doing a new, faster dance in his chest. "I haven't."</p><p>Alfred sat right next to him on the bed and Antonio was unable to look away, to avert his gaze, to snap himself out of it. He didn't even know what 'it' was. Yet something had been sparked in the other. Those three simple words had had an unprecedented effect. And the longer they looked at each other, barely enough air between them to breathe, the deeper Antonio fell into this sudden, inescapable hole.</p><p>Fingers lightly touched the back of his hand. He swallowed. <em> Dry</em>. The fingers moved up, brushed over his cheek. He was unfamiliar with the look in Alfred's eyes but he had no words that he thought could stop this, or that <em> should </em> stop this.</p><p>Alfred was perfect. He was funny, he was charming, he was charismatic, he was thoughtful, he was head-strong, he was confident, he was more than Antonio could ever believe God had willingly put into one person. Then, why should he stop it? Alfred was a good person, a good friend, someone he could trust and rely on. And he was like Antonio. He <em> understood.</em> He knew what it was like, he knew his condition like no one else ever would. That was the sort of person Antonio <em> needed </em> to let into his life with open arms. He had to do everything in his power to keep him close, to not let him slip away, or abandon him like…</p><p>Their lips met. It was short, sweet. Nothing like what Antonio had once thought a kiss could be. And then, their lips kept meeting, over and over again, and they moved in a quiet rhythm until Alfred was on top of Antonio, the mattress beneath them releasing a few treacherous creaks with the shifting of their weight (thank God no one was home; thank God they had their peace).</p><p>As they continued to kiss, breath being stolen and shared and stolen again, hands moved under fabric and the cool ticklish sensation around his stomach and sides had Antonio almost laughing. He surely <em> would </em> have laughed if he had had the chance to break away from Alfred. Not that he minded. No, he didn't mind. He liked it. Alfred seemed to like it, too. They were both happy, they were both going to enjoy this, they were both going to remember this day for a long, long time.</p><p>Lips moved from face to neck very quickly. Tongue and teeth were introduced to skin and became liberally used. Hands continued to feel at his warm skin and cause waves of shudders and chills to rush down his spine. For someone who had apparently never had sex before, he certainly knew what he was doing! Before he knew it, Antonio was more than ready for them to get on with it. He tugged at Alfred's top to encourage him to remove it, before assisting the blonde with his own t-shirt, and the you-then-me routine continued as expected. </p><p>Soon, they were both in nothing but their underwear. Soon, Alfred had seized both his lips and his hips alike, trapping him in place. Soon, Antonio had succumbed to the narcotic effects of the other's touches and affections, lost to the world outside those four walls. </p><p>For the next who knew how long, he seemed to fade in and out of reality. Everything was either hazy, or didn't make sense to him, and Antonio felt like he was simply a passenger in his own body. Alfred, he could at least tell, was much more with it. Much more together. <em> Himself</em>. He hadn't quite expected such a voracious libido as that which had erupted from the blonde, but at the same time, he couldn't complain.</p><p>There was just something about sex that blocked out certain pains and thoughts, like a good drug, and let them be free. </p><p>Nails dug into his sides where Alfred held him down against the bed and was thrusting into him with the same helpless passion as a rabbit in March. The roles would hopefully soon be reversed for experience's sake. Marks would possibly be left on the both of them, but it was an unusually pleasant feeling. Each groan, moan and whine that escaped him in the meantime was muffled by a pillow—which, in the end, was a good thing.</p><p>They were, at some later stage when the switch had (thankfully) occurred, interrupted by the sound of the front door slamming shut. Matthew must have come home for a quick lunch break. While he never came in to check on Alfred, it at least reminded both of them that they should hurry up, wrap it up, and call it a day. </p><p>At the end of it all, Antonio was still left with the light marks of a good time on his neck and back. He had done his best to return such a favour. </p><p>However, it was as he headed home that he seemed to grasp what had actually occurred in Alfred's bedroom. It wasn't just sex. It wasn't just young, horny adults being young, horny adults. He recognised the trend. He recognised the signs he had neglected to see in the moment. For an hour, it was as though his emotions and feelings had been stuck in one happy-go-fuck-me setting, and now…?</p><p>When Antonio got home, he avoided his brother. He didn't want João to see him like that. He didn't want his brother to feel any more ashamed of him. Instead, he hurried to the bathroom and had a hot shower, letting his naivety and dignity run down his face and into the plughole with the rest of the water.</p><p>And in the end, the most disgusting thing of all— thething that made him feel the most nauseous and repulsive—was not the sex, nor the post-coitus introspection, but the fact that he had not once thought about Ivan, and their little triangle, and how the Russian would feel about all of this. Would he care? Would he be hurt by it? Maybe offended? <em> Disappointed… </em>?</p><p>Antonio found an urge to paint once more.</p><p>
  <b>IX</b>
</p><p>With an exasperated sigh, he set his phone back down on the sofa arm and returned his attention to the film Antonio had put on for them. It was some horror film or another. Ivan had been reluctant to agree to it because some of these films had a way of sticking with him and genuinely freaking him out. But at the same time, to see a monster and to watch it be defeated by the protagonists against all odds… It was a strange sort of reassurance for his own battles, should they arise.</p><p>Antonio was leaning against him. Ivan had an arm around him. At least they had each other to get them through the terrors of whichever paranormal entity this film was actually about, he supposed.</p><p>It did bother him, though. Alfred hadn't replied to the breakfast text he'd sent him the day before, where usually, Ivan couldn't get him to <em> stop </em> texting until the early hours of the morning. Alfred could be relentless. And yet, upon inviting him to join them both at Antonio's place for a film night (and Alfred could never resist the adrenaline rush of a scary movie) the message had been left on read.</p><p>And it bothered him. <em> Immensely.</em></p><p>Perhaps that was why, when the film took a tangent and the characters were busy with their C-plot, Ivan had to ask Antonio: "Have you heard from Alfred recently?"</p><p>"Not since last week," Antonio replied. His concern seemed to remain fixated on the film characters, rather than on real people. "He's been quiet."</p><p>"Should we check in on him tomorrow? Even if we only see Matthew, he could give us some clue as to how he is."</p><p>"You mean like how you spoke to João?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"And how I had him lie to you about where I was?"</p><p>Ivan went to say something but closed his mouth again. </p><p>"I'm sorry, I know. He only went along with it because I initially threatened to walk out and not come back, and the last time I gave him that ultimatum and he didn't take me seriously, I walked ten kilometres in the middle of the night to a nearby town and he had to come and find me the next day."</p><p>He wasn't sure whether to be impressed or alarmed. "Remind me how old you are…?"</p><p>"I'm five on a bad day," Antonio responded, a small smile on his face. "I guess the point is, take what you hear with a pinch of salt. Maybe two pinches, if the person in question is the older brother of a sibling with BPD and depressive episodes. We can go tomorrow morning if you want."</p><p>Did Antonio think Alfred was experiencing a low, then? Did he know, or was it an inkling? Or was he just talking from personal experience? After all, if Alfred were on a high, he would have been messaging like mad, not ignoring them altogether. Perhaps Antonio had a point, then. If someone he thought he was close to could convince their brother to lie to his face about him being out of town, then  maybe Alfred was capable of something similar.</p><p>Maybe they ought to have been more worried than they were.</p><p>"Do you…?"</p><p>Antonio stopped and did a one-eighty, swallowing his words and pretending nothing had come out. Ivan observed silently as he scratched his forehead and shifted slightly, as though uncomfortable, before he simply centred his attention on the film once more.</p><p>Oh no, he wasn't going to get away so easily.</p><p>"What is it?" Ivan asked him. "If you have a question or something, then it would be better to ask me now and get it out the way, yes?" But that only seemed to make the other more uncomfortable and fidgety. Ivan started to frown. "What's the matter?"</p><p>"It's fine, don't worry," Antonio deflected. "It's not important."</p><p>"Why don't you think it's important?" It was better than asking 'are you sure?' and having the other brush him off again—a tactic he had quickly learned to use more often with his two friends. Ivan gently rubbed his arm for added encouragement. </p><p>"I was going to ask an opinion but— Well, it just sounds silly to me," the brunette remarked, and then he sighed. "I don't know, maybe it isn't. I can't tell if I'm overthinking things, but… I think it could be my fault."</p><p>"That Alfred has gone quiet?"</p><p>Antonio gave a hesitant nod. His eyes remained fixed on the television screen, a good distraction. In his lap, his hands fiddled and fingers itched at each other.</p><p>"Why would it be your fault?" Ivan asked. </p><p>"It's a long story, I don't think—"</p><p>"So is every film, yet they can often give summaries in two sentences," he pointed out. Even the longest of books came with a blurb (encyclopedias and dictionaries excluded), so really, he felt that Antonio was making a fuss about nothing, and he didn't know why. Part of him didn't think he'd like the answer.</p><p>"I don't want to say."</p><p>"I can pause the film."</p><p>"It's honestly nothing."</p><p>"Then there should be no issue telling me."</p><p>Antonio went quiet.</p><p>"Come on, whatever it is, I'm sure it's not as bad as you think. I doubt you have done anything wrong that would scare him like—"</p><p>"We had sex."</p><p>It seemed that the light nudging had done what it was supposed to. But Ivan had been right—that was not the answer he had been expecting. At all. And as for <em> liking </em> it…</p><p>Antonio appeared to be appalled by the same three words that left his mouth. Distraught, even. Like he knew it had been a mistake, that it had been no good for anyone, and that the consequences were not going to be light. At the same time, Ivan couldn't work out if he was seeing red, green or blue.</p><p>"We had sex," the Spaniard repeated, sitting up and forward, his hands gripping the edge of the sofa cushion, "and I think that's why he's gone quiet." He seemed a bit breathless. "I messed up." Frazzled, overwhelmed. "Now he won't have anything to do with me…"</p><p>Ivan didn't know what to say.</p><p>At the same time, he was both stunned and mortified by this revelation. Not because they had had sex (though, perhaps there was indeed a problem there that would later need resolving) but because he had been afraid to tell him. Antonio had not, what, <em> trusted him </em> ? It hurt. It <em> hurt.</em> Ivan trusted Antonio so much in spite of his flaws, the times he'd been absent physically and emotionally, or the way he could act as though Ivan wasn't clearly one of his closest friends. And what for? When he got no trust in return? It hurt <em> so</em>, <em> so much</em>.</p><p><em> Antonio and Alfred had sex.</em> It was a thought that wouldn't sink in, it wouldn't be absorbed into his mind. <em> Antonio and Alfred had sex</em>. When he thought about, actually, <em> yeah </em> , it was wrong. It stunned him and mortified him in the same way, just like it <em> hurt </em> him. Ivan was the friend who would chase after Antonio, that would answer the midnight phone calls, that would know when he needed space and give it to him. <em> Alfred </em> was the friend who… was <em> Alfred</em>. Could Ivan… Could Ivan even compete with that? Athletic, outgoing, funny, clever Alfred. Ivan knew he paled in comparison. Was that why? Was that why he had to stand to the side…?</p><p>"I'm so sorry, Ivan," Antonio's voice seemed to mumble in the background, behind all the others that had become a cacophony in Ivan's ears; <em> pathetic, worthless, no one wants you here, worthless, stupid, they hate you, who would ever want to be with you? </em> "I wanted to tell you, I really did. I— I just didn't know how, I-I was scared…"</p><p>
  <em> You are better off dead. </em>
</p><p>Ivan felt compelled to stand up. He felt compelled to move and walk and run away. <em> They hate you. </em> He swallowed down what was both a burst of anger and a raincloud, nails digging into the palms of his hands. <em> You're worthless</em>. He didn't even acknowledge Antonio, who was asking him what was wrong, then apologising vehemently, then begging him to stay so they could talk it out. <em> You should leave and never come back. </em></p><p>That was exactly what Ivan intended to do when he left the house and left its sole occupant on his knees crying, the pair of them being swallowed up whole by their own demons. Their own minds. Their own fears. Ivan was lost to a different sort of pain.</p><p>
  <b>X</b>
</p><p>Antonio had been lying on the floor when his brother had returned, a numb and unresponsive pile of bones and flesh stained with tears and shame. It had taken twenty minutes for João to coax him up and to get him to his room, all while the younger brother refused to say what had happened in his absence. He just felt empty. <em> Hollow</em>. The life had been sucked out of him the minute that the front door had slammed behind Ivan. João didn't know that. He didn't know how hopeless his brother felt, or how fed-up he was, or how he had reached the end of the tracks. </p><p>But he could guess.</p><p>João had been quick. He'd grabbed the blankets, the chocolate, the ice-cream tub and spoons, and even this plush orange bird that <em> somehow </em> he knew his brother always kept close at night. He didn't ask why Antonio had subsequently knocked the bird off the bed with his foot, not even sparing it a glance. All he asked was: "Which film do you want to watch with me?" and that was enough.</p><p>The brothers spent a couple hours cycling through some of Antonio's favourite films (all horror films, but that was normal; at least João never suggested anything too happy and uplifting to watch instead) and emptying the confectionary cupboard. João was now cradling a still quiet and bleary-eyed Antonio close to his chest, his fingers in short hair to further soothe him. It was calm. Tranquil. No conversation was demanded. No conversation was needed.</p><p>It was only as the credits of the third film rolled that João reminded Antonio of a very simple yet important thing: "I'll always be here for you, to look out for you, and protect you. No matter what. I'll always love you, Tonto."</p><p>"I know," Antonio replied, the first words he'd said to his brother that day. "I know." </p><p>
  <em> And that is why I have to go. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I could have and should have posted this sooner but I've been busy prepping to move to Spain for the next few months. As you can imagine, it's not the simplest of things to do amidst a pandemic :') But we good, we survivin'.</p><p>Hope you're all well and staying safe out there! And remember - you have worth, you sre loved, and you're perfect just the way you are &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. ACT III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>I</strong>
</p><p><em> меня </em>: We need to talk</p><p><em> Alfred </em>: abt?</p><p><em> меня </em> : A few things. Are you<br/>free this afternoon?</p><p><em> Alfred </em> : yea, i can meet u at<br/>Tavolini at if u want</p><p><em> меня </em>: 1 hour?</p><p><em> Alfred </em>: sure thing</p><p>* * *</p><p><em> Me </em>: u good?</p><p><em> Me </em> : srry ive been quiet, Mattie<br/>and i had a real rough week</p><p><em> Me </em> : call me when you can, im<br/>getting worried</p><p>* * *</p><p><em> меня </em> : I cannot help you if you<br/>don't talk to me</p><p><em> меня </em>: I know you read that</p><p><em> меня </em> : Alfred and I are talking<br/>over coffee. Tavolini, if you<br/>want to join us.</p><p><em> меня </em>: I'm sorry</p><p>Ivan sighed as he sent that last message, and both of them set down their phones at the same time on the table. Alfred had treated them (well, the cash had <em> possibly </em> been taken from his brother's wallet, he'd said meekly) to a drink each as well as a piece of lemon cake which they had originally agreed to share.</p><p>"You can go ahead," Ivan told Alfred, gesturing to the sponge treat. The appetite he'd had had now disappeared. "I have no stomach for it."</p><p>"Why's that?" Alfred asked as he pulled the plated cake slice closer. Evidently, where Ivan lost his appetite to his worry and stress, Alfred <em> found </em>an appetite. It wasn't a bad thing necessarily; as long as he knew how to control it. </p><p>"Don't worry," the Russian replied. "I am more intrigued to know why you decided to reply to today's text message from me, but not previous ones."</p><p>The other stuck his fork into the cake and the metal prongs scraped against the porcelain. Alfred sighed and glanced outside. "Last week was brutal. It's not really any better <em> this </em> week, but Mattie convinced me that I needed to get out, so…" He sighed again. His head ducked down and his gaze fell back on the cake. "Our grandma died. We knew it was coming, she had some sort of malignant tumour and they'd already started the countdown for her, but…"</p><p>He trailed off, like he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Ivan understood, though. Losing anyone was hard, and while he'd never had an in-depth conversation with Alfred about family, he knew that his grandmother had been an important figure in his life—in Matthew's, too—and that they had been close before the boys had moved out together (and even then, they had maintained that good relationship).</p><p>Ivan could appreciate that, and he understood; Alfred's silence made sense. He was grieving, even now. </p><p>"You are never truly ready for it, death," he said, to which Alfred responded with a meek hum of agreement. "I'm sorry for your loss—both of you."</p><p>"It's alright, she was ready," Alfred said. He tried to muster up a smile and Ivan tried equally as hard to give him a reassuring look. It was weird, seeing the other so deflated, defeated, even in spite of his quirk ('disorder' was a horrid word). "It's just a bit weird. I feel like I'm just floating around, or not really here."</p><p>"Numb," Ivan concurred. Antonio had told him once about feeling numb; he could just as easily recall how the Spaniard had quickly changed the subject. “That’s understandable. You need time, I’m sorry if I have been impatient with you—”</p><p>“No, no, it’s fine. You didn’t know,” Alfred dismissed. He swallowed down the chunk of cake in his mouth, perhaps along with some of his own anxieties and fears. “Like I said, I’m only out because Mattie insisted and has been holding my videogames hostage. I’d call it inconsiderate if I didn’t know he was just looking out for me…”</p><p>Ivan nodded; siblings were like that. But it also makes him think to the other member of their trio, who had this same tendency, and the last time they had spoken. <em> Where are you going? Don’t</em>— <em> don’t go, I-I’m sorry! I should have told you, but I… Oh God, Ivan, please! </em> He could hear the door slamming behind him. Ivan had glanced back at the house to see if Antonio had followed after him, but he hadn’t. He had taken it as a sign that that was that, that Ivan no longer mattered, or only mattered when it suited. </p><p>“What about Antonio?” Ivan questioned. Now he was the one swallowing down his anxieties and fear—dry. “Have you… spoken to him about this as well?”</p><p>Alfred gave a meek hum, either unsure or unnerved. “I mean, I sent him a text on my way here to see if he’s okay, but I haven’t spoken to him otherwise since—” He cut himself off. He sat back in his seat, another piece of cake clinging to his fork, until it fell off back onto the plate. “It’s complicated…”</p><p>“He already told me, if you are talking about what I <em> think </em> you are talking about.”</p><p>That seemed to surprise the other. “Right. Okay,” he mumbled. Ivan hoped he didn’t feel too embarrassed or awkward by the fact, but of course, why wouldn’t he be? “Well, yeah. I haven’t spoken to him since then. My grandma died the next morning, so…”</p><p>“So you haven’t told him why you weren’t talking to anyone?”</p><p>“No, not properly.”</p><p>“Ah.” This had all turned into a great big mess. A mountain. How they would be able to climb it and conquer it, Ivan didn’t know.</p><p>“Why? Haven’t you spoken to him recently, either?” Alfred asked him. </p><p>“Just once,” he replied. <em> I was scared because I didn’t want to lose you, too. I-It’s my fault, I know that, but please, I can’t</em>— <em> I can’t lose you! </em> “That was only two days ago. I haven’t heard from him since.”</p><p>“Do you think he’s alright?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”</p><p>“Should we… go and see him?”</p><p>“I don’t think he wants the company. He has read my messages but not replied. Perhaps he wants to be left alone—”</p><p>“I’m not gonna lie to you, Ivan, but I wouldn’t recommend ignoring him if something happened between you guys. That day with Toni—that was my fault,” Alfred told him. The embarrassment had been replaced with seriousness, and Ivan was stunned into silence. “Call it self-destructive or whatever, but he probably feels like shit about it and he shouldn’t…”</p><p><em> And I am the one who has made him feel that way. </em> Ivan eyed his drink and noted that it was cooling down. He couldn’t even stomach that, now.</p><p>The silence encouraged Alfred to continue. “Knowing him, if neither of us have spoken to him, he’ll be in a bad way. He’s the self-deprecating kind; he could be on jury duty and find a way to blame himself for the crime.”</p><p>He recalled the zoo, the chat on the bench. <em> I'm horrible, I have been all my life. I don't do anything, I'm just here, I— I burden my brother with everything, with money, with responsibility, with me in general. </em> It had hurt to hear, it had almost torn Ivan apart inside to see how he had gone from smiling to sinking. <em> What use is someone who can't hold a job, who can't handle stress, who dissociates, who can't be independent, who can't get better, who'd rather be... </em></p><p>"Dead…"</p><p>
  <em> God, who the f-fuck would want someone like that around? </em>
</p><p>“Dead?” Alfred repeated, a confused frown on his face. Ivan couldn’t tear his eyes away from his mug. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”</p><p>
  <em> Do I… need a reason to give you flowers? </em>
</p><p>“No, you don’t…”</p><p>
  <em> I remember you said you liked lemon-y things, back in the hospital. I thought it might cheer you up. </em>
</p><p>“It did, it really did, I—”</p><p>
  <em> Thank you. For trusting me. </em>
</p><p>“I’m sorry, I never meant to…"</p><p>
  <em> I don’t want to say. It’s honestly nothing. </em>
</p><p>“I shouldn’t have pushed you.”</p><p>
  <em> It’s my fault. </em>
</p><p>“No, <em> no! </em>”</p><p>
  <em> What use is someone who’d rather be dead? </em>
</p><p>Ivan couldn’t remember much of what happened in the minutes after. It was only lucky that Alfred was there for him, to protect him from onslaught and the stares from puzzled strangers. When he found himself doing breathing exercises with the other again and he was able to calm down, they were both in the bathroom, a member of staff on hand just in case. </p><p>“You're doing good, just keep counting and breathing,” Alfred said to him as he began to breathe a little easier, a little less erratically. He didn't remember ever starting to count but the rhythm was there in his head, <em> four, five, six, seven </em>… Over and over. Ivan was holding onto the sink. "It's alright, I'm here for you, bud. You can do this."</p><p>He couldn't do it. He couldn't wait around and stand in that bathroom and bear to look at himself in the mirror. He'd sooner smash it, destroy the monster he saw staring back at him. <em> I should have stayed with him. I should have listened. I should have been a good friend to him</em>. Instead, he had only pushed Antonio away, and further towards the wrong path. </p><p>It was like when they had been in the hospital. Both had tried to kill themselves, and just as Ivan had admitted that he had succumbed to the invasive voices in his head—nothing more than cruel hallucinations—Antonio had later explained his own reasoning. <em>I'm numb</em>, he'd said. <em>I'm numb to living.</em> <em>Cutting myself didn't even hurt. I'm not sure what will</em>. The answer had been Ivan. Ivan would hurt him. It was a shame neither of them had seen it at the time.</p><p>After a few moments longer of Alfred gently rubbing his back and reassuring him that he could pull through, that everything would be okay, Ivan's iron grip on the sink released and he looked to Alfred in the mirror. He had to fix this. He had to fix <em> them </em>.</p><p>"We need to find him," he said. </p><p>"You wanna go to Toni's house?" the other clarified, before suggesting: "His brother might be there to talk to us."</p><p>Again, a past version of Antonio spoke to Ivan: <em> take what you hear with a pinch of salt. Maybe two pinches, if the person in question is the older brother of a sibling with BPD and depressive episodes</em>. His voice had sounded almost blithe, playful, but he hadn't been joking. </p><p>"He could lie to us," Ivan warned. He turned around, his heart finally settling again. Panic and chaos had morphed into determination, fire. "We can go, but we should be wary of what he says if Antonio is not there."</p><p>Alfred nodded along. "Roger that," he said. "Are you happy to walk? The fresh air might do us both some good, eh?"</p><p>By 'us', Ivan knew he meant 'you', but he agreed all the same. There was no way he was risking the public transport; the fifteen minute walk would be the best option. They spent little time hanging around in the bathroom before they were able to take the side exit out of the coffee shop (courtesy of a very generous barista); time was of the essence.</p><p>
  <strong>II</strong>
</p><p>Ivan had to get Alfred to knock on the door. Unsurprisingly, João was the one who answered. </p><p>What <em> was </em> surprising, however, was the state he was in. The few times Ivan had met João, he always seemed so much more put together and collected and grounded (certainly in comparison to his brother), but the João they were presented with looked frazzled, frenzied, stressed. Ivan felt his heart do a strange little leap. <em> Why is he stressed? </em></p><p>João looked between the both of them and glanced over their shoulders, before his gaze fell back on his visitors. “Is Tonio with you?” he asked them.</p><p>“No,” Alfred replied on their behalf, shaking his head. Ivan could see the further panic that was induced in the brother. “We actually came by to see if he was in, we were, uh… <em> concerned</em>. I take it he’s not here?”</p><p>“If he was <em> here</em>, I wouldn’t have asked you if you’d seen him.” João responded rather curtly. </p><p>Ivan spoke up. If they stuck to this path, they would never get anywhere, and it seemed that he wasn’t in a position to lie to them. “Forgive us for intruding like this,” he said, “but we are worried, just like you. Have you seen him at all today?” João could only shake his head and Ivan felt a familiar ache in his heart. <em> God, Tonyo, where are you? </em> “And yesterday?”</p><p>“He was here. We had dinner, and he turned in early because he had a headache,” João explained to him. “That’s normal, he gets them a lot. He just takes paracetamol and I leave him alone so he can rest. Look, do you… Do you want to come in so we can talk?” he offered. His fingers curled around the long sleeves of his jacket and tugged lightly at the fabric.</p><p>“That would be good, thank you,” Ivan responded, and he and Alfred followed the other’s gesture to head to the living room just across the way.</p><p>As they walked, he noted the unusual mess, the signs of a mini-destruction that lay in the hallway. The house was normally pristine—immaculate—the brothers were too proud to let it be any other way—but now there were strewn objects, from books to clothes to something broken (porcelain? like a plate?). João made sure to guide them past it all without drawing too much attention to it. </p><p>The three of them sat down together. The brunette seemed to be fidgeting slightly—in that aspect, Ivan could see a small resemblance between him and his younger brother—but he seemed equally eager to continue what he had been saying. He hadn’t seen Antonio since the night before, Ivan reminded himself. Did that mean he never actually went to bed? Antonio’s lying was… not something he needed to address at that moment. <em> All in good time </em>. The other would have his reasons—he always did.</p><p>João eventually gave a sigh and told the others: "I got up this morning for work. I usually check in on Antonio before I go, because sometimes he's awake and he gets grumpy if I don't say goodbye even though the lazy ass is perfectly capable of coming to <em> me </em> and saying goodbye himself—" He took a deep breath. He calmed himself down. "When I stuck my head into his room this morning, however, he wasn't there. For a moment, I actually entertained the idea that he was already downstairs…"</p><p>"But he wasn't," Alfred ascertained, going off of the elder's nod. João was staring at the leg of the coffee table. "What did you do, then?"</p><p>"I turned the house upside down looking for him."</p><p>"Why the house…? Did you think he was hiding somewhere?" Alfred was playing detective. Ivan didn't think he was doing a particularly bad job, and at least the fact that he was being basically <em> interrogated </em> didn't faze João in the slightest.</p><p>"Sometimes he does. Rough nights aren't uncommon," he explained to them. "If something upsets him or scares him, or anything like that, most of the time he'll run. I even found him sleeping outside in the car, once. This time, though, it looks like he went for a drive, instead…"</p><p>"Wait, you mean—?"</p><p>"The car's gone," João said. "Did neither of you notice?"</p><p>Of <em> course </em> Ivan had noticed the blatant gap on the driveway. But it had made sense at the time that it was because João had been working; he hadn't connected any dots when the same person had opened the door. So, that meant Antonio had taken the car. Probably in the middle of the night. And João had no idea where he could have gone, else he would already have been hunting him down. It was safe to assume he'd taken the day off work, both for the lack of a car as well as a brother, but what Ivan couldn't understand was why he wasn't out there actively searching anyway.</p><p>He asked him as much.</p><p>"Because," the brunette replied, looking offended at the question and its implications, just as much as he looked guilty, "I thought there'd be some sort of hint lying around as to where he is. A journal, a photograph, a note… There was, last time."</p><p>Last time? Had he— Oh, but of course he had done it before. Antonio had told him as much. <em> The last time I gave him that ultimatum and he didn't take me seriously, I walked ten kilometres in the middle of the night to a nearby town and he had to come and find me the next day. </em> Only this time, Antonio hadn't walked. He'd driven. You could go a lot further in a car than you could on foot.</p><p>Ivan was starting to feel physically sick.</p><p>"I just don't know where to look, what to do," their host went on. He leaned back into the couch, resting against the cushions as his head sat in his hand and his elbow was propped up on the sofa arm. He looked tired. Ill with his worry. "I can't even report him missing because it hasn't been twenty-four hours, and even then, he could still come back of his own volition…"</p><p>That sliver of hope almost gave Ivan whiplash. "You think he would come back on his own?" he questioned with a raised brow. </p><p>"He has nowhere else," João replied. "I'm the only family he has out here, he has nowhere else to stay, no one to run to. That's why I'm struggling to think where he'd be."</p><p>Ivan lamented for a short moment, while Alfred continued to talk to João about theories and ideas, that he should have been someone that Antonio could run to when he needed to run, to hide, to escape. <em> Even though it's my fault he's running in the first place</em>. But… that word stuck to him. <em> Escape. </em> Antonio had run (driven) away to escape something—his so-called friends, his mind, his demons, all of the above—but <em> where </em> he would escape to…?</p><p>The painting came to mind. The way Antonio had described it to him, as being calming and soothing and tranquil, <em> it screams 'Ivan' </em> . The colours were warm; the sunflowers, tall and charming. Pleasing to the eye. The sun was setting. <em> It's actually based on a place not too far away</em>, that was what Antonio had said to him; <em> a rural town, beautiful landscapes</em>. Ivan could picture his smile, just as radiant as the artwork he'd created so seemingly effortlessly. So neatly. So… so <em> perfect</em>, because he knew the very same field of sunflowers he had painted. </p><p>"Ivan? Are you alright?"</p><p>The words hit him like a ton of bricks. <em> Like, I know where I'd be heading if I ever wanted to escape</em>, the past Antonio told him with a laugh, a carefree smile. <em> Escape. </em></p><p>"<em>Hello, </em> Ivan—?"</p><p>"I think I know where he is," the Russian stated.</p><p>João stared at him, still, frozen, and then burning. "<em>W</em><em>here?" </em></p><p>"There is a place he painted, filled with sunflowers. He told me about it very briefly," Ivan said to him, "but he said there is a rural town nearby where they grow. He likes it there."</p><p>Alfred seemed a little less convinced. "A field of sunflowers…?" he mumbled wearily. "Why there?"</p><p>"He loves them," João responded. He seemed to be realising where Ivan was coming from, and in turn, where Antonio must have gone to. That sliver of hope had quickly become a good, hefty slice. "I took him once, when we first moved out here. He loved running between all the flowers, <em> my God</em>…" He met Ivan's gaze. "We have to go there, we have to check."</p><p>Ivan couldn't agree more. "We can take my sister's car, she won't mind as long as you can drive us."</p><p>"Of course, yes. That's perfect," João nodded eagerly. He stood up, and the others stood up with him. "Let me find the house keys and we'll go. Bear with me."</p><p>
  <strong>III</strong>
</p><p>The gas station was void of life save for the older woman standing behind the counter. Antonio had not gone in for much; he gave her the pump number, asked for a packet of cigarettes and fished out his wallet. The last commission he had done had earned him sixty dollars. It would have to suffice. The lady ran up his total—forty-six eighty—and tried to make conversation. Antonio didn't mind.</p><p>"So, you headin' anywhere nice?" she asked him, smiles and all, as she went to get the cigarettes. She hadn't even asked for identification. <em> Jesus</em>.</p><p>"I'm not sure yet," he responded in earnest. "I've just filled up a canister, I'm going to see how far it can take me."</p><p>"Ah, sounds like you've got a big journey ahead of you, kiddo."</p><p>"I suppose I have." Antonio put the bills onto the counter, but before he took any change, he asked her: "Do you happen to sell balloons…?"</p><p>"Balloons?"</p><p>"I know it's a long-shot, but yeah. Ideally a helium balloon," he clarified, and for good measure, he added: "I'm visiting a friend on the way. Balloons are just… our thing. It's hard to explain."</p><p>The woman gave a quiet laugh and brushed it off with a flick of the wrist. She moved out from behind the counter and guided him to a small collection of balloons just down the far aisle. "There's not a lot to pick from, but I can most certainly inflate them for you," she said to him. </p><p>Antonio eyed the limited yet still colourful collection, and made his pick within seconds. "This is perfect, thank you," he assured her, handing over the pack of orange balloons when the woman held out her hand for it. "I only need one to be inflated, if that's alright? I'll obviously pay for all five, but—"</p><p>"Don't you worry, I've got you, honey. Give me two ticks and I'll be back out," the lady told him, and off she disappeared presumably out back to the magical helium tank.</p><p>There was still a good half an hour drive ahead of him, but now that he had everything he needed, Antonio felt prepared. He felt <em> ready</em>. He breathed in the petroleum-soaked air of the station as he waited, leaning against the counter, and he smiled. <em> I'm ready</em>, he repeated. <em> I'm finally ready. </em></p><p>
  <strong>IV</strong>
</p><p>It had been a scramble to get into the car after claiming the keys from an extremely confused Katyushka and coercing Alfred into the backseat because <em> shotgun rules do not apply in this situation; this is my sister's car so I am going to be sat in the front! </em> God help him if he ever had kids.</p><p>"It's a good two hours away," João remarked as he pulled out of the drive and got them on their way. Ivan had to commend him, he was quite the smooth driver, especially compared to Antonio playing Mario Kart… "I'll try to go as fast as I can within reason. We just have to be patient. Which <em> sucks </em>."</p><p>"Don't worry," Ivan said, glancing at the other and seeing the whites of his knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel, the slight crease in his brow. "The time will pass us by. I have a good feeling about this."</p><p>Not good, as in <em> great, amazing! </em> Good as in, <em> I think we'll find him, I think he'll be okay, I think we can do this</em>. The slice of hope had become a chunk.</p><p>And he was right, of course. The time did indeed pass them by with ease, as the traffic on the roads was minimal as they hit the countryside, and the sun was starting to dip into the horizon. Ivan could see why Antonio had taken a liking to this sort of landscape, of fields and trees and open air, rather than the cosmopolitan city. They passed into a small valley, where hills blocked most of the sunlight, and he saw its appeal. It was almost mystical. Fantastical.</p><p>It was when they hit two hours and four minutes that João was finally able to stop the car. To their left was the sunflower field. Just further along the road, Ivan spotted the familiar grey car that belonged to their current driver.</p><p>"Oh my God, you were right," the brunette breathed out. He let go of the steering wheel and didn't hang around; he undid his seatbelt, opened his door and got out of the vehicle. Ivan and Alfred were close behind. "He must be in there," he said, gesturing to the sunflowers. "Come on, we have to get him—"</p><p>"<em>Wait</em>."</p><p>Ivan saw in the distance that a couple of the sunflowers were moving. Like something was knocking into them, or walking past them. He couldn't be sure if he was imagining it (<em> it would be typical for my hallucinations and delusions to start interfering right now, wouldn't it? </em>) until Alfred pointed out the very same thing. </p><p>"The sunflowers are moving," he said. "But there's no wind…?"</p><p>"It has to be him."</p><p>"In which case, do excuse me, but I'm going to go and pull him out of there before he gets hurt—"</p><p>"Hold on," Ivan interrupted, halting him for the second time. He could tell that João wasn't best pleased by the fact, but right now, his priority wasn't appeasing the brother. "Let me go to him. I need to speak to him first."</p><p>"Why? He's my brother, you can't expect me to just <em>stand</em> <em>here</em>."</p><p>"You're right. I expect you <em> both </em> to do it," he reiterated. Telling him why was not a good idea, not yet. Not until he spoke to Tonyo himself. He felt like he owed it to the guy. "Give me five minutes. Then you can come and find us."</p><p>João stared at him for a moment. They didn't know each other immensely well despite the three months Ivan had been friends with Antonio (part of him hoped that would change in the future, provided this went alright), but he needed him to trust him. Just this once. <em> Please</em>, he implored the other with his eyes as he seemed to debate the decision in his head. <em> Let me fix this. </em></p><p>"Five minutes," João eventually said to him; Ivan felt like he could breathe a little easier, "and not a second more. So God help me, if I come in there and he's—" He cut himself off this time. <em> Hurt. Broken. Upset. Dead. </em> So many possibilities.</p><p>"Ivan can handle this, I'm sure of it," Alfred piped up, an unexpected voice of reason. "He's good with Toni, he can get him back to us."</p><p>João bit his tongue and gave a slow nod. His eyes shifted from Alfred to the field and then, at last, to Ivan. "Five minutes."</p><p><em>Five minutes</em>. He wasn't going to waste a single second.</p><p>
  <strong>V</strong>
</p><p>Ivan crossed the road without a word and entered the field, soon lost between the tall stems of the sunflowers. <em> Pleasing to the eye. Tall, charming. </em> He kept walking straight in the belief that Antonio was out in that general direction based on the movement they'd all seen, and that he hadn't already moved on. All Ivan could see now was green, yellow, and the darkening sky above, lit up with shades that reminded him so much of the painting in his bedroom. He hadn't hung it up yet; he hadn't found a place on the wall that seemed to serve it justice. Not just <em> anywhere </em> would do…</p><p>The clock was ticking. How long had already passed? <em> Idiot. What use are you? He doesn't need you. </em> Ivan bit the inside of his cheek and moved faster, nearly running. He wasn't stupid. He wasn't useless. He wasn't worthless. What was it he had said to Antonio? He heard voices, but he didn't need to listen to them. For once, he needed to listen to his own voice.</p><p>Within moments of ignoring that niggling man in the back of his mind, Ivan found a small clearing. Sunflowers had been chopped or otherwise flattened to form a small circle, and sat on the ground in front of what looked to be the naked form of a scarecrow, was Antonio. He was cross-legged, quiet. A cigarette sat lit between his fingers. The stench of gasoline lingered in the air. <em> Is that a… balloon? </em></p><p>"I had a feeling you'd come to find me," the brunette remarked, before he glanced over his shoulder at Ivan and smiled. "Come on, have a seat. Do you want a smoke? I have a whole pack. I'd light them all for myself but I think João would be a bit worried if I tried to cram that many cigarettes in my mouth at once, aha…"</p><p>Ivan inched closer. He was within reach, he could grab Antonio and pull him close, into the safety of his arms, but he also <em> couldn't</em>. He couldn't find it in himself to move. All he did was listen to his own voice and it said, clear as day: <em> I don't deserve him. </em></p><p>The silence was an invitation.</p><p>"You know, I've been doing some reflection lately," Antonio remarked. His gaze returned to the scarecrow. "I think I've come to the conclusion that my life was never really mine. And not only has it never been mine, but also, it seems that by proxy, it's also been full of shit. Like me, I guess. Full. Of. <em> Shit</em>." His cigarette was burning short. A tut came from his as he seemed to take note, staring at the dwindling glow, before he stabbed the butt into his wrist. Ivan sucked in a mortified breath. Antonio was unfazed. "I like fire, Ivan. Do you? You always seemed like the cold type—as in, ice-skating, warm jumpers, hot drinks—but I don't know. I'm not even sure if it's really you I'm talking to."</p><p>"Tonyo, I need to tell you something…"</p><p>His quiet words trailed off. The spent cigarette was flicked to the floor, and Antonio went right into his pocket for a fresh one, lighting it and all. The smoke danced in wisps up towards the sky. "I like fire," he repeated. "I like the colour, I like the heat, I like the burn. So you can imagine that when the little embers of a cigarette—" He held up his fresh specimen. "—meet a good, strong batch of gasoline—" He hit his free hand down on what looked to be a canister, presumably still full, sat next to him. "—that the fire that results is simply the most beautiful thing I could ever imagine.."</p><p>Ivan felt his breath hitch. He was smoking right next to a highly flammable substance. <em> He was smoking right next to a highly flammable substance</em>. If Ivan had never believed that Antonio truly had a death wish, then he believed it now. His heart… it hadn't ached this way in so long…</p><p>"Hey, Ivan?"</p><p>"Y-Yes, Tonyo?"</p><p>"Why won't you sit down next to me? I thought you wanted to talk…"</p><p>"I do, I— I have so much I need to say, to apologise for—"</p><p>"Ahh, I don't care about things like that. Just sit down."</p><p>For fear of the other's safety above all else, Ivan wasn't going to object. He cautiously moved and took a seat to Antonio's left while the Spaniard enjoyed another drag, another puff, another three seconds of silence. <em> Tick, tock. </em> </p><p>"Do you still trust me?" Antonio questioned.</p><p>Ivan looked to him, his knees hugged close to his body. "I do," he said. It wasn't a complete lie. He trusted Antonio, of course he did; but it didn't feel like he was with the real Antonio.</p><p>"Hmm. Thanks, Ivan,” the other smiled. It was <em> wrong</em>, it wasn’t his normal smile. <em> I’ve pushed him so far away. </em></p><p>“For what?” he asked all the same.</p><p>This was a familiar exchange. Maybe this wasn’t going the way Ivan though. Maybe it was okay, maybe it was still salvageable. Maybe he hadn’t screwed up as much as he thought.</p><p>Was that a… <em> naive </em> notion? In the silence that came back down between them as Antonio let tobacco smoke fill his lungs, he thought of the breakdowns he saw during the days he and Antonio spent in hospital together. He’d gotten better since then. He’d seemed so much happier, less volatile, like he was improving. In the hospital, they’d had to sedate him. It had been a bad night all-round. He couldn’t have gone back to that, could he? Ivan couldn’t have <em> let him </em> go back to that… could he?</p><p>“For lying to me.”</p><p>It seemed he could. He <em> did</em>.</p><p>"If you trusted me, you wouldn't be here. You wouldn't have come to find me and dragged anyone else with you…"</p><p>"You know that Alfred and João are here—?"</p><p>"I do, now, yeah. You'd suck if you were a spy, like in those films you like to watch," Antonio remarked. A quiet, dry chuckle passed his lips. And then, he changed his tone: "I need to tell you something as well."</p><p>"Oh." Ivan swallowed the lump in his throat, hoping his guilt would dissolve in the acid of his stomach. "I am listening."</p><p>The other nodded to himself for a moment, as though finding it in himself to say what needed to be said. But rather than speaking, he took a different course of action. </p><p>From between his fingers, he flicked the cigarette away, forwards, towards the scarecrow, and the ground suddenly burst into flame. Orange spread around them, the flames not too high, but not exactly welcoming either. Ivan scrambled to stand up, but they were surrounded by fire, and Antonio remained still. <em> He's going to cook us alive. </em> That was the first thought he had; the second was: <em> João and Alfred will be running here, now. There's no way they can't see this. </em></p><p>"Don't worry," Antonio said, calm, "the grass is all wet on the other side, I didn't want the sunflowers to burn down, too. They're too pretty. It's <em> him </em> that needs to burn."</p><p>Him? <em> Me? </em> Ivan looked back to Antonio and away from the fire that encircled them, but where he had expected to see Antonio already staring at him, he found that the other's gaze was fixated on the scarecrow one more. The flames danced so close to the post that held up the sacks of hay. The balloon that had been tied to one of its arms seemed keen to fly away.</p><p>It wasn't the only one.</p><p>But it occured to Ivan almost immediately—that scarecrow was a humanoid figure. It held the basic shape of a man, even despite the lack of clothing, and it was as if the balloon was being <em>held</em> by him. He couldn't explain it on his own, but he knew, he <em>knew</em> this was for a reason. The fire, the scarecrow, the balloon. Antonio was crying out for help with the scene, even if he remained perfectly silent in person. Ivan had to answer his call. <em>I can fix this.</em> <em>I can still save him.</em></p><p>He crouched down next to Antonio and asked a simple question, and a question he believed no one had ever asked the brunette before: "Who is he?"</p><p>Antonio ducked down his head. His hands fell limp in his lap. "I showed you, once," he replied. The fire he had spoken with before had almost completely died out. "I told you that I hate him."</p><p>
  <em> Ivan watched him lean closer to the window pane. He didn't know what he was doing, but Antonio breathed on the glass so it steamed up, and he began to draw a rough face-shape, with angry eyes, a zig-zag mouth. Ivan couldn't help but smile, even as the other said: "I hate him." </em>
</p><p>“At the hospital,” Ivan responded, coming to some understanding. “You said you had an episode, once. He spoke to you.”</p><p>“He’s real.”</p><p>“They all are, to an extent.”</p><p>“No,” Antonio asserted, “he’s real. He’s the reason I— It’s because of <em> him</em>.” He huffed and raised his head again, the scarecrow his subject. “He was a family friend. Our parents trusted him…”</p><p>Ivan set a hand down slowly onto the other’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure if Antonio would adversely react at first, but he didn’t to his relief; though it seemed to be more because he was detached. It was as though he didn’t register that Ivan was still there in spite of their conversation, the physical contact.</p><p>What Ivan did notice, however, was that João and Alfred had made their appearance. The fire around them was still flickering, and Ivan could see the shock horror in both of them at the scene, but he made sure they stayed there in the sunflowers. That they stayed <em> quiet</em>. João very nearly stepped forward anyway to cross the fire, but Alfred understood and held him back. Ivan wasn’t finished with Antonio, and he knew that if either of them got involved, he’d clam up.</p><p>Antonio would be lost to them entirely.</p><p>“Trust is a lie,” the brunette went on, oblivious to who now surrounded him. “It’s just a word. You can think so highly of people, you can tell yourself you trust them and that they care, and they can turn around and do…” He bit down on his lip, he paused. Ivan moved to sit back down next to him properly, his hand staying on his shoulder to help anchor him. “They do bad things.”</p><p>“Like me?” Ivan asked.</p><p>Antonio looked at him. A kind of sadness glowed amber in his eyes. “Worse things,” he said. “We were both in the wrong, but I think I could forgive you.”</p><p>At that, Ivan nodded, and then he gestured to the scarecrow in front of them. “What about him?”</p><p>“No.” Antonio didn’t even need to look. His hand fell down onto the canister of diesel. “I told you already, he needs to burn.”</p><p>“Will that solve the problem? Will it fix things?” Ivan pressed, treading lightly. “If he burns, will it help?”</p><p>“It’ll make me feel better.”</p><p>“But will it? Will it really? He hurt you, I can see that, and he broke your trust,” he remarked, and even when Antonio went to say something in protest, he continued to speak. He needed him to understand a very simple thing: “But how will a matchstick and some petrol fix the problem?”</p><p>“You don’t— You don’t <em> get it</em>.” Antonio almost glared at him. The fire was coming back, but Ivan wasn’t sure that it was a good thing. Overhead, clouds seemed to be rolling in from the mountains. “He didn’t just <em> hurt </em> me. He <em> broke </em> me. I’ve been fucked up ever since I was eight, and it’s <em> his fault!</em>” </p><p>This was becoming explosive. Ivan could see out of the corner of his eye that João was on the verge of getting involved, but he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk Antonio shutting them all out, because then who would he have? There was clearly something he needed to get off his chest.</p><p>And as much as it looked like Ivan was provoking him, he was actually trying to help him overcome the thing that was holding him back. He had had to do it himself, about three years ago. He had had to come to terms with what his triggers were, why his mind had warped the way it had, why he struggled more than others, why he had to take the medication. He was lucky that his older sister had the patience to deal with him. Now someone needed to give Antonio the same and help João, who seemed to barely be holding on himself at times, and Ivan wanted to be that patient person. He wanted to be that anchor. </p><p><em> God</em>, he just wanted to hold him close. He just wanted him to feel safe,</p><p>“Go on, you can tell me,” he encouraged the other, keeping his tone soft and quiet. “I won’t understand otherwise, and I want to, because you called me a good friend, once. I never want to stop being your friend, Tonyo.”</p><p>Spots of rain started to cascade from the sky. With any luck, it would fall harder. Someone needed to put out the dwindling flames, and if none of them could, then some divine intervention wouldn’t go amiss.</p><p>“He wasn’t… <em> just </em> a family friend.” Antonio breathed in and held the air for a few seconds. He was trying not to cry. Then, he exhaled. “He was Dad’s cousin, or something like that. He would look after us sometimes, when our parents went away for an evening, or even a weekend,” he began to explain. Ivan cast João a glance, and the look on his face only seemed to confirm what Antonio was saying. “Our parents went away for their tenth anniversary. João managed to stay with a friend for the weekend—Friday to Monday, really, so I stayed with <em> him</em>, eight years old, all on my own.”</p><p>Whatever came next, Ivan knew that both brothers here would be deeply affected. </p><p>“The first day, he got drunk and beat me, pushed me around…”</p><p>Ivan started to gently rub his back, up and down.</p><p>“The second day, drunk again, he locked me in a cupboard all day until bedtime. Then I had to stay in his bed, otherwise he’d beat me some more.”</p><p>Antonio leaned towards Ivan, and he took it as an invitation to put his arm around him, to <em> hold </em> him. Antonio rested his head on the other’s shoulder.</p><p>“On the third day, I woke up and he was…” He suddenly stopped and appeared to suck in a breath to counter an oncoming sob. Ivan gave him a light squeeze and told him that it was okay, to take him time.”I-I told him to stop, so he hit me instead… I’m lucky that was it…”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Ivan then said to him.</p><p>He let Antonio continue to lean into him, until he began to move and Ivan needed to put both arms around him and hold him against his chest. He was crying. Just… silently crying. No sobs, no shaky breaths. The tears just rolled down. He really had become numb…</p><p>Raindrops began to fall harder. Faster. The sky shared in his grief.</p><p>"No one believed me when I tried to tell them—no one but João," Antonio murmured. "That's why he moved us out as soon as he saved up enough. Our parents, they— They didn't understand…"</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Ivan repeated as he held him, gently rocking side to side. “You didn’t deserve that. You should have been safe, and now, I understand. I really do. He… He does need to burn.”</p><p>“But it won’t help,” Antonio responded, mumbling against the other’s soft jacket. “It won’t fix me…”</p><p>“But it will make you feel better, won’t it?”</p><p>“I… don’t know. I-I don’t know, I—… I don’t know…”</p><p>For the moment, he was pacified. The flames died out in and around them. From the sidelines, João and Alfred were getting just as soaked and just as deflated, and Ivan knew at that moment that he couldn’t be the only one. He couldn’t be the only anchor. They all needed each other, whether they had BPD or schizophrenia or nothing of the kind. So, he gestured at last for them to come over. To share in the comfort. </p><p>Neither of them hesitated. Soon enough, the four of them had formed a ball together in the wet grass and mud, and they all knew: <em> sometimes, it’s okay for us to feel sad. </em></p><p>It was only after a few minutes that Antonio, who had been squished in the middle of the agglomeration, spoke up and said: “Can we… <em> not </em> tell my therapist about all of this…?” Alfred and João were the first to laugh, before Antonio joined in, and then, at last, Ivan. “I am being serious, guys. I don’t think he’d be happy if he found out I nearly committed arson…”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” João said, ruffling his little brother’s hair, even if it did annoy him. “As long as we’re here, I don’t think you need to talk to him about anything you don’t want to.”</p><p>“Anything?”</p><p>“Anything.”</p><p>“Oh, good. I won’t tell him about having sex with Alfred, either, in that case.”</p><p>An awkward silence fell.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” João said. “You and Alfred did <em> what? </em>”</p><p>
  <strong>VI</strong>
</p><p>A full week after the nearly-setting-us-and-sunflowers-alight incident, Ivan was stood on Antonio’s doorstep with Alfred once more. And once more, João answered and invited them inside (though he did warn Ivan to keep a close eye on Alfred; it was more jokey than stern, but it seemed to unnerve Alfred all the same. <em> Bless</em>). In the last seven days, the trio had spent a lot of time together, Antonio hadn't had to go to his group therapy with Alfred (they had both been overjoyed), and Ivan had made his first attempt at baking a cake—orange and pecan. He actually had it with him, fresh from an hour ago.</p><p>"He's out in the garden," João told them both. He wouldn't be joining them, but not even he minded that. "Go easy on the sugar, 'kay? I'm not trained to handle hyper-active adults, and I have enough stress at work."</p><p>"Oh, really?" Ivan asked him, curious. It was ten in the morning, and in his personal opinion, a good time to ask: "What do you do for a living? I don't think we have ever discussed it."</p><p>"I do different things," João replied. "Weekdays, I work part-time as a SE mentor in a local high school. Saturdays, I work in daycare."</p><p>Alfred seemed to understand what 'SE' meant where Ivan did not. "Yikes, that's intense," he remarked. "God, though. You help quite a lot of kids pretty much on a daily basis."</p><p>"I suppose I do," João smiled, almost fully, almost wholesomely. "I have a lot of experience, which helps."</p><p>"He's lucky to have you. Toni, I mean."</p><p>"You think so?" </p><p>"I know so," Alfred nodded, smiling back. </p><p>Amused, the eldest nodded to himself, thanked Alfred for inflating his ego for the day, and bid them a good morning; he was running a bit late and he didn't want to let any of the kids down.</p><p>Letting him go, Ivan and Alfred carried on walking, as the latter explained to Ivan that João basically worked with children with special needs, ensuring they had an equal shot in education. <em> Ah</em>. Impressive. Now he understood what he meant by <em> experience</em>, given that Antonio had no doubt been a bit of a challenge in his own way. If he had been sixteen when João had become his sole carer, that meant João had been twenty at the time. An adult, fresh into the world.</p><p>He had a newfound respect for the man. Five years on, he ought to have been proud of himself. Ivan made a mental note to tell him as much</p><p>Outside, the pair were greeted by Antonio, who pretty much charged at them so all three became trapped in a hug. <em> Has he already been on the sugar? </em> João would be glad to have work instead. Not in a bad way, of course, just… </p><p>"I swear you're both early!" Antonio said as he pulled away from them. A smile lit up his features. He seemed happy, fresh and ready for the day.  "I'm not even ready, I was still trying to lay the table!"</p><p>Behind him, Ivan could see the garden table and chairs had been adorned with a tablecloth, a few snacks (strawberries, crisps, nuts), a vase of sunflowers and what looked like a big jug of homemade lemonade. <em> He's done so much</em>, Ivan thought to himself, <em> I should have brought more… </em> </p><p>"No worries, we can give you a hand," Alfred brushed off in the meantime. "What do you need us to do?"</p><p>"I reckon we need plates and cutlery," Antonio replied with a laugh, "you know, to eat with. Can you manage that all on your own, Al?"</p><p>"Psht, <em> can I handle that on my own. </em> Of course I can!" the blonde stated. He set down what he had brought along—another bag of crisps as well as some fizzy drinks—before he took the challenge by the horns and raced back off inside to the kitchen.</p><p>"That will keep him occupied for a couple minutes." Antonio looked to Ivan and gestured to the table, inviting him to set down the tin in his hands, and maybe even to take a seat. "The cutlery drawer is empty, it's all in the dishwasher."</p><p>"Which is not even in the main kitchen, is it?" Ivan responded. He couldn't help but laugh, gathering quickly that Antonio may or may not have set it up that way. He took a seat. </p><p>Antonio sat down next to him. "It gives us a minute to talk. I hope you don't mind?"</p><p>"Not at all! What did you want to talk about?"</p><p>"You."</p><p>"Me?"</p><p>"Just you," Antonio smiled at him. "Tell me if it sounds too sappy or whatever it is Alfred says. <em> Cheesy</em>, perhaps? But I just wanted to say that I…" He paused and Ivan found himself almost anxious about what was to come. "No, hang on. Let me try again…</p><p>Ivan waited patiently (albeit nervously) as Antonio collected himself. Needless to say, he hadn't expected conversation to turn on him so fast, and whatever Antonio was about to come out with… it had his heart partaking in the Olympics, judging by the way it seemed to twinge and thump in his chest. What was with that? Was he okay? <em> Am I having a heart attack? </em></p><p>"What I want to say," the other reiterated, "is that you are… are wonderful. You're amazing. You're more than just a good friend to me, because not only are you <em> good</em>, but you're thoughtful, you're patient, you're accepting…"</p><p>"So are you."</p><p>It caused the other to give a meek laugh, but he shook his head. "Not in the same way, not like that. You remember that night we all camped out under the stars? I said that sometimes, I think you come from up there?" He was pointing at the sky. Ivan nodded. His heart was doing the hundred-metre hurdles, now. "This is the cheesy bit, really, but I think of you sometimes as like a guardian angel, almost. From the way you look out for me, to the way you just look <em> at </em> me—with pure compassion and courtesy—I know that I'm just so, so lucky to have you in my life…"</p><p>"You…" Ivan slowly breathed in and out. He was approaching the last few hurdles but he feared slamming into one, falling down, losing. "You truly mean that…?"</p><p>Antonio reached out and set his hand down on top of Ivan's. "I do," he said, before he looked up to meet his gaze. "I really do."</p><p>"Oh, Tonyo—" Ivan felt himself cross the finish line, tears almost filling his eyes. He didn't notice the other get up and walk to him and envelope him in another hug until he felt those arms, and he hugged him back. "That means so much to me, you have no idea…"</p><p>"I think I do, Ivi. You are, after all, crushing my lungs, which I think is special treatment," Antonio laughed, but he only seemed to tighten his grip in turn, so it couldn't have been <em> that </em> bad. And even then, the way he seemed to lean into him and rest his head on Ivan's shoulder was so much like a week ago… "You mean the world to me. I just wanted you to know that."</p><p>"Am I interrupting something?"</p><p>Ivan glimpsed Alfred stood in the back door, staring at them. "No, you're g—"</p><p>"Yes, you are," Antonio told him, cutting Ivan off and remaining perfectly content in their embrace. Ivan almost felt bad for the guy. <em> Almost. </em> "Make yourself busy for two more minutes, okay? Find some glasses to bring out for the lemonade as well!"</p><p>"Yes boss!" Afred replied, even giving a mock salute. "Ivan, if you still need rescuing in two minutes, you'll have to blink at me in Morse code!" </p><p>"I don't even <em>k</em><em>now </em> Morse code!"</p><p>"Just go, Al! Remember what I told you about privacy!"</p><p>"Yeah, yeah, I gotcha!"</p><p>"<em>Dork</em>."</p><p>"He's our dork, though," Ivan remarked as Alfred vanished once again into the house. The two of them pulled apart and he smiled up at Antonio with all the warmth he could muster. "What did you mean about privacy, though?"</p><p>"Boundaries, giving people space…"</p><p>"Was he invading your space?"</p><p>"<em>Our </em> space, really. I was enjoying that hug!"</p><p>"Aww, I'm sorry," Ivan chuckled. "You'll just have to wait before we do it again in case he gets jealous, okay?"</p><p>Antonio nearly grinned wide. "I can wait, don't worry."</p><p>
  <b>VII</b>
</p><p>To his relief, he only had to wait a day. Antonio had the car and had decided he and Ivan should go on a drive—just the two of them. Now they sat in the woods where they had gone for Alfred's birthday, and they were quite content in watching clouds pass overhead in a clearing they'd found. On the walk there, they'd messed around; they'd attempted and failed to climb a tree, raced pooh sticks down a small brook (Ivan had won), they'd fallen into autumn leaves and rolled around, <em> hugged</em>…</p><p>And now, in that serene spot with only the sky above them, Antonio felt happy. Ivan's hand was in his—when it had happened, he didn't quite know, but it felt right and comfortable and he was far too stubborn to let go so soon—and they were pointing out shapes to each other. <em> A bird. A turtle. That's most definitely a bat! </em> He looked to Ivan as he defended his labelling of a cloud as a dinosaur, and the pure joy he saw in the other was something he found much more wonderful to see than a fluffy white t-rex. </p><p><em> Angelito</em>. The angel that had saved him. Part of him recognised that if Ivan hadn't been there in the sunflower field, that Antonio may very well have doused himself in gasoline and, well… Ivan had unknowingly saved him. He hadn't been joking when he had called Ivan that—his guardian angel. He protected in the day, every second they spent together, and even in the night, when the dreams and memories merged in his mind and his angel found a way to save him there, too.</p><p>It had to be asked: did Ivan think of him in a similar way?</p><p>Ivan took medication. He didn't need protecting too much, because for the most part, his symptoms went treated. It was like there was nothing wrong with him (there wasn't in Antonio's books anyway, but say 'schizophrenic', and everyone thinks they're looking at the criminally insane). But that didn't mean he didn't<em> need </em> protecting, anyway. Antonio wanted to be a rock for him, too, when he needed it. He wanted Ivan to be able to go to him to talk, to vent, to cry, to relax.</p><p>The extent to which Antonio cared about him knew no bounds. Yesterday, when he'd said, <em> you mean the world to me</em>, he hadn't been exaggerating. Ivan had become his world. He had become his safety net. He had become the person Antonio could rely on at all hours so that João, who worked and worked and worked, could rest. And that meant <em> everything </em> to Antonio. For five years, João had looked after him. Now, he knew João didn't have to do it alone.</p><p>Ivan was saying something to him, but Antonio, who was yet to learn some boundaries of his own when it came to those closest to him, paid little mind. "Can I tell you something?" he asked, cutting the other off. At least Ivan didn't seem to mind. </p><p>"Of course you can. Sorry, have I been talking your ear off, as they say?"</p><p>"No, no, I just… I was thinking, and it occurred to me that I needed to tell you something," Antonio said. "That's all."</p><p>"Ah, fair enough. Go on, I am listening," Ivan replied, smiling at him in a way that had Antonio feeling something he had once thought impossible for someone like him—someone who had turned their back on <em> it </em>. He breathed in.</p><p>"I think I love you."</p><p>Ivan looked stunned. His smile faltered and slipped away and his brow creased slightly, like he was confused. It was quite cute to look at. <em> Fuck, I really have gone soft for him, haven't I? </em></p><p>"I know, it sounds crazy," Antonio continued, because Ivan clearly wasn't going to. "I still haven't quite worked out in what sort of way, but I just <em> know</em>, I know I do. Everything about you is just so…"</p><p>"So…?"</p><p>"I don't know. Lost for words, you leave me lost for words," the brunette laughed quietly. He lifted Ivan's hand in his and held it against his chest, smiling at him with all the affection and adoration he had to spare. "I think I love you, Ivi. Sorry if that makes things awkward."</p><p>"Do not apologise for having feelings, Tonyo. It… It doesn't have to be awkward."</p><p>"No…?"</p><p>"Are things awkward between you and Alfred?"</p><p>"That was sex, that's different—"</p><p>"So it is more the romantic type of love you think you feel towards me? Not the… sexual type?"</p><p>Antonio hadn't expected it, but he was ninety percent sure his face had reddenced exponentially in the last two milliseconds. "Y-Yeah, I think so," he mumbled, but <em> then </em> he felt even more embarrassed because— "N-Not to say that I don't think you're… you know." <em> He's what? Sexy? Tall? Not too unlike that guy João has been sneakily seeing who you've also kind of been eyeing because holy fuck those </em> <b> <em>arms</em></b><em>— </em> He cleared his throat. "I just… I don't want you to think this is like that incident with Afred, because it's not. You're more than that to me…"</p><p>While he lay there, basking in the autumn sun and his own idiocy, Antonio idly watched Ivan move their hands onto <em> his </em> chest, where he rearranged them both and so now, Antonio's hand lay flat underneath his. At least he didn't seem perturbed by the mess that left his mouth. <em> Pull yourself together! No wonder João calls you 'Tonto', tonto! </em> </p><p>"I think I love you, too."</p><p>Antonio refocused, coming to, and he stared at Ivan for some kind of sign that confirmed he'd just heard what he thought he'd just heard. It didn't come immediately. </p><p>"It is weird to say out loud, isn't it?" Ivan mused as he lifted his fingers and lightly trailed over Antonio's palm. It was almost ticklish. One wouldn't think him so gentle at first glance, but he truly was a giant teddy bear. Antonio had always wanted one of those. "It is strange to admit it, but I think even back in the hospital…"</p><p>"There was a connection," Antonio finished for him. "I think so, too. I used to like just listening to you speak to me, I could easily have fallen asleep to your voice."</p><p>Ivan hummed and smiled modestly to himself. "I remember when we were laughing together about funny stories. Like that time you said you climbed a tree to prove to your brother you could do it, only to be too scared to get down."</p><p>"Oh wow, thanks for reminding me! It's a good job I couldn't get up that tree earlier, isn't it?" he remarked (there was no way he wasn't still red; did Ivan enjoy watching him suffer like this?). "What would you have done if I got stuck then, eh?"</p><p>"I would have helped you down, obviously," Ivan assured him, however, much to his surprise. "And if not, then I would have tried to get up there as well. I'm not a monster!"</p><p>"Ah, true. You're far from that, that's for sure," Antonio agreed. He let Ivan trace only a couple more circles into his palm, before he decided to sit up, needing to just… not be led down. It no longer felt comfortable. "What are we going to do, do you think?" he asked Ivan, who was moving to sit up with him. "About us?"</p><p>"What about us?"</p><p>"About the fact that we think we love each other."</p><p>"Oh, that." He felt a hand come around his shoulders, and he leaned into Ivan's side instinctively. It was nice. It was cosy. "Do we need to do anything? We can just… see what happens. We shouldn't have to rush into anything, or rush away from it either."</p><p>Antonio appreciated the sentiment. They both had things to work through, and he was right—they shouldn't rush in head-first, just as they shouldn't avoid or ignore the feelings they had. Avoiding feelings was the root of so many of their problems, and Antonio's especially. He'd gotten better at openly communicating ever since the incident in the field (again, his angel was responsible for that), and he also felt that since then, Ivan was more open with him as well. So long as they continued on that path, then perhaps they would be alright. </p><p>
  <b>VIII</b>
</p><p>Antonio didn't know what to do, but he hoped that he was doing more or less the right thing. He was staying with Ivan for the night as his sisters were off doing their own thing, and in the middle of what had been a rather snug moment of sleep between the two of them, Ivan had begun to… react to something. What it was exactly, Antonio couldn't be sure. But as soon as Ivan had started to talk in spite of being asleep, he had known that something wasn't quite right.</p><p>Five minutes later, and while Ivan seemed to be battling the onslaught of voices and hallucinations that had come out of nowhere, Antonio had done the only thing he could think to do: he held him close and protectively, letting the other hide in his chest, as he tried to soothe him. He rubbed his back; he told him that he was safe, that he was with Antonio who was going to protect him; he even kissed the top of his head at some point in the hopes it would break through Ivan's torment.</p><p>He was slowly calming down, he could see that much. Antonio had only witnessed this once, back at the hospital, but this was so different at the same time. In a hospital, you had nurses to hand. At home, you had no one.</p><p><em> No, he doesn't have no one because he has </em> <b> <em>you</em></b><em>. You're here, you're helping. Come on, Tonto, help him. Save him. </em></p><p>It took some time longer for Ivan to settle. He opened his eyes at some point and Antonio could see just how tear-stained and red his face was, and it was heartbreaking. He tucked the other's head back under his chin and ran a hand through Ivan's hair, perhaps to comfort them both. He could only imagine the things going through the other's head, the horrid things he was hearing. Ivan had told him once of how the nameless voices would berate him, put him down, curse him, condemn him. </p><p>They had convinced him to try to kill himself, if he recalled correctly. That just wouldn't do. Antonio had to counter them and anything they might throw at his angel.</p><p>"It's okay, I'm here for you," he thus said, with the same calm, hushed tone as he had done all the times before. "I'm here for you, Ivan. I'm not going to leave you. I'm staying here, and I'm going to keep you safe and sound, okay? Do you know why?" he asked no one. Maybe himself. "It's because I care about you. So, so much. I may even love you, we haven't quite worked that one out yet, but you know what? It doesn't matter. Because I still care about you, a-and I always will. Okay? I promise you. I promise you, I will <em> always </em> be right here for you. You mean the world to me, Ivi. You do. You do…"</p><p>
  <b>IX</b>
</p><p>Ivan came around, feeling a mixture of tiredness, anxiety, nausea and pain. He couldn't quite remember what had happened, but what he did know was that he had fallen asleep, then he had been in and out of consciousness for what felt like hours, and now he had woken up in bed with— Antonio? Antonio. <em> Antonio</em>. The Spaniard had his arms around Ivan, and he seemed to be asleep himself, almost curled around the other's form. Ivan was careful when he moved to sit up as a result; he didn't want to wake him up.</p><p>From what he could gather from both the scene as well as the flickers of memory, Antonio had done his best to help him during an episode. How he had managed to do so and how he had found the sheer will was beyond Ivan, but from the bottom of his heart, he wished to tell him how incredible he was for doing so. Those soft reassurances he could remember in the darkness—the '<em>I'm here</em>'s, the '<em>you're safe with me </em>'s—had been a light to guide him past his demons step by step. He was so grateful…</p><p>The other looked peaceful, sleeping. He was unmoving, aside from his regular breathing, and despite the uncertainty and anxiety he imagined that Antonio had endured during the episode, he almost looked to be smiling in his sleep. <em> Smiling. </em> Even when he wasn't trying to be, the brunette was so… so lovely. So sweet. So alluring. Ivan moved some of the brown tendrils out of Antonio's face to get a good look at him. It felt domestic in a way. Like Antonio wasn't just some he thought he loved.</p><p>Did he love him for real? Ivan couldn't tell. He wasn't familiar with love. That wasn't to say he was incapable of it, either, of course—he has such a big heart, he wished he had more people to share it with—but he wanted to be sure. The love of his parents had never existed (they were the reason for his condition in the first place; much like Antonio's father's cousin's brother or whoever the fuck it was that had hurt him so much, <em> bastard</em>). The love of his sisters was all he knew, and as a result, he had much to learn. All he knew was that Antonio made him happy in a way no one else had done for a very long time. Ever since that first night together, he had had a feeling that… </p><p>Next to him, Antonio stirred. He mumbled something in his sleep—something about being <em> here </em> , something about <em> safety</em>. It was actually really adorable and endearing, and if he hadn't known better, Ivan might have been tempted to record it on his phone for… future reference. But instead, he left it. He let him rest. It was morning now, and morning meant breakfast. <em> Perhaps I can make it up to him</em>. It wasn't a bad idea.</p><p>Free of the other's grasp, Ivan made sure that Antonio was covered by sufficient duvet to keep him toasty and settled, before he ventured downstairs to the kitchen. The only problem he found, however, was deciding what on earth he should even make. What did Antonio like? Was he an eggs for breakfast kind of guy? Cereal? Toast? Fruit? <em> Fruit, wait</em>— An idea came to him and he decided to stick with it, setting himself to boiling some water to get started. <em> When he comes downstairs</em>, he told himself with a smile, <em> I think he'll be really amazed. </em></p><p>
  <b>X</b>
</p><p>Antonio woke to an empty bed. He wasn't too surprised by the fact when he saw the clock on the bedside table was adamant that it was gone nine o'clock, and he had to drag himself up from the warmth of the ever so cosy bed in order to go and find where Ivan had wandered off to.</p><p>The music guided him downstairs.</p><p>In the kitchen, he found Ivan humming and dancing with only half his energy to whatever the radio was playing as he was sorting out breakfast. When the Russian caught a glimpse of the drowsy, bed-headed Spaniard, however, he stopped and smiled and greeted him.</p><p>"Good morning, Tonyo," he said, turning to the table behind them both and gesturing for Antonio to take a seat. There was already some fruit in a bowl, prepared, peeled or otherwise chopped, and Antonio also noticed a pot of coffee. <em> Thank God, caffeine! </em> "Give me two minutes and we can eat, okay? The toast is almost done."</p><p>"You didn't have to go to any trouble like this for me, you know," he replied, sitting down anyway. He took a slice of an orange from the bowl and indulged himself in its ripe juices. "I could have helped. Or better yet, we could have just had the coffee and I would be happy!"</p><p>"Coffee isn't a substitute for a meal, and you know it. Now," Ivan said to refocus them both, "do you want any jams? Marmalades? That sort of thing?"</p><p>"Some marmalade sounds good."</p><p>"Orange?"</p><p>"Orange," Antonio smiled.</p><p>Ivan nodded to himself and continued to prepare whatever it was he was trying to do. Antonio couldn't exactly see from where he was sitting, but he caught the glint of a knife and wondered what on earth he was cutting. There was already a substantial amount of fruit in the middle of the table! He was worried it would brow and go off before it could all be eaten!</p><p>He was pulled from his thoughts as Ivan brought over a pot of marmalade along with the toast rack. <em> Gosh, he really has gone all out, bless him. </em> It was sweet. And it only got better.</p><p>As Ivan took to pouring them both sime coffee, Antonio reached for the toast and pulled out a piece, paying little mind to what he was actually doing. It was only when he set the piece down on his plate and looked at it properly against the white porcelain background that he noted its shape. <em> That's what he was cutting</em>. He couldn't help but feel a bit emotional.</p><p>"How are you doing? Is everything okay?" Ivan asked from the seat next to him. Antonio met his gaze, only to see him smiling, and he almost exploded then and there. "Do you… like my art skills?"</p><p>"They're fantastic, yes," Antonio nodded with a quiet laugh. He looked back to the bird-shaped toast on his plate. "I almost don't want to ruin it…"</p><p>The day at the zoo flooded back to him all too fast. The bench, the aviary, the little bird, the things Ivan had said to him to try and cheer him up. <em> He doesn't think you're a burden. He thinks you are a wonderful support, a gentle person, and very generous, too</em>. Antonio could feel it all rising in him again, the swirl of emotions, the tears—not because of the meltdown he'd had, but because, even back then, Ivan had been there for him. His angel. Or maybe, not even his angel. Just Ivan.</p><p>He felt a hand fall on top of his, and they looked to each other with mutual compassion and understanding.  </p><p>The zoo. The hospital. The park. The woods. The field. All the places and moments in between. Tavolini's, Alfred's house, Ivan's garden, cloud-watching, baking, story-telling. The highs and lows and the middle-ground, the need for someone to be there. Hiding in the studio from his friends, burning his wrists, drinking and dancing around the campfire, painting those sunflowers, hugging someone or an otherwise just as comforting toy at night, dreaming such wild, wonderful things…</p><p>They all had one thing in common. Antonio squeezed the other's hand, before they separated and went about eating breakfast, enjoying each other's company and the tranquility of the mid-morning. </p><p>Perhaps, in the end, Ivan—and <em> just </em> Ivan—was all that Antonio needed. Because with Ivan, he no longer felt so numb, and <em>that</em>… That was a truly remarkable feeling.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, and we're finally here! The end! </p><p>I don't know how rushed this last bit felt, but it's been done for long enough and I've been holding it off for too many days hehe. I hope you enjoyed this little... thing. I don't know what to call it other than self-indulgence - but then, pretty much everything I write is, tch.</p><p>Anyways, I hope you are well, I hope you are safe, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your day/night/early morning. I will see you around!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Disclaimer: I claim to be no expert into what it's like to have schizophrenia or BPD, or any other 'disorder', but I have enough interest to try and portray these characters in a way that reflects how those affected are still perfectly human. They don't deserve to be stigmatised by media or film, or even by society. Everyone deserves compassion, kindness and affection. Period. Even so, if the portrayals of the individual conditions aren't quite accurate then I apologise in advance; the purpose here is to understand relationships between characters, and how the disorders they live with affect each other.</p><p>With that out of the way, it feels nice to write some Russia and Spain again! This work is already completed, with three chapters (the last of which is  l o n g, oopsies). A lot happens, but I hope you enjoy it as I publish it all bit by bit. I do love these two and their dynamic, but I really have to give a shoutout here to DemigodVigilante. The power a single comment has, ay! Without it, I wouldn't have found it in me to actually write this and make sure I finished it. So thank you, DV, and if you see this, I hope this will live up to expectations :')</p><p>Thanks for stopping by, and hopefully you'll stick around for more. Chao ciao for now &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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